


After the bust

by Cinnamonpigeon



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: But probably worthwhile if you like Dice whumps, Drinking to Cope, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, King Dice Redemption, King Dice gets a backstory, King Dice is tired and underpaid, M/M, Rating change because things get intense and I'm a little paranoid, Up to chapter five is like somewhat optional, i'm sorry it's really long, really slow build, the Devil does not understand mortals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-04-16 23:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14175933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamonpigeon/pseuds/Cinnamonpigeon
Summary: After the cup brothers defeat the Devil, King Dice finds himself in a strange position. He can start over fresh with the debtors that the brothers freed from the Devil, or he can double down on his commitment to the Devil in exchange for powers beyond even what he had imagined possible. A new life feels possible, but there's a lot of work that will have to be done to build a life for himself. The Devil can promise him something more certain, but he's starting to realize that it's hard to win in a deal with the Devil.Meanwhile, the Devil finds himself struggling to rebuild without the help of King Dice. As an immortal being, he never considered that his good-for-nothing lackey meant a thing to him until he suddenly finds himself without a right-hand man...





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I have a cuphead-ish Tumblr blog now:  
> cinnamon-pigeon.tumblr.com  
> Visit for (probably) promos of this fic and some other stuff!
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Hope you enjoy~

The Devil’s Casino smelled like an ominous combination of liquor, gunpowder, and smoke. King Dice awoke with his face pressed into the dirty carpet. His body felt achy, and his head was pounding. Confused, he tried to lift himself to his feet, startled by the way that his arms gave out in protest, leaving him weakly collapsed on the carpet once again.

 

Tables had been upturned, and liquor bottles lay smashed with their contents spilling onto the carpeting. Dice stood up, ignoring the way that his temples throbbed in protest, and surveyed the damage. The casino was in ruins, lit by the dusty summer sunlight that streamed through a broken window and broken, flickering neon lights.

_ This is bad. Oh, this is very, very bad. _ A rare sensation of panic washed over Dice as he instinctively reached up to rub his forehead with a gloved hand, wincing in pain as he accidentally brushed against a sensitive bruise.

 

It was coming back to him now. Those mug-headed brothers...his ‘game’ with them, sending the casino employees after them, one after another, fight after fight...and then, finally, his own match with them. The stinging cuts that peppered his face and arms were reminder enough of that.

 

He  _ knew _ that there was something off about those boys all along. He had made a deal with the Devil for his powers, but there was no way that they could have done such a thing. The day before, he and the Devil had been observing their progress with fascination, watching them take on and beat up fully-grown opponents, one after another. The Devil was impressed enough to think that they would actually be able to fulfill their end of the deal and save their own souls, but Dice was less certain. He even put a bet on it: if the little mugs could make it all the way to the Devil by midnight with the soul contracts in hand, then his next year’s worth of pay could go right into the Devil’s coffers.

 

The kids couldn’t keep squeaking through all the way to the end. Everyone’s luck was bound to run out, he knew.

 

Even his own.

 

Wrecking the casino to avoid losing a bet with his boss was, he had to admit, pretty stupid of him.  _ Great job, blockhead _ , he thought bitterly to himself, kicking aside strewn poker chips and shattered glass as he made his way towards the bar. 

 

He began to realize that he was alone--the other employees, who he imagined couldn’t be feeling much better than he was, were mysteriously absent. Were it not for the very real pain he was in, which was intensifying with every passing moment and making the edges of his vision start to blur, he would have believed this was all part of a strange hallucination.

 

Boss was going to be furious at him, that much was for sure.

 

Speaking of--

 

“Well, well. Have a good nap there, Dice?” the Devil appeared in a puff of smoke and perched himself on the bar counter.

 

One of the Devil’s horns had been broken at the top, and hairline fractures traveled all the way down the remainder of the horn. Patches of his fur were matted with something evilly sulfurous-smelling, something Dice could only imagine was the Devil’s blood.

 

The Devil’s battered appearance did little to soothe Dice’s nerves. “Boss,” he stammered, freezing in place.

 

Without warning, the Devil grew monstrous in size. A sinewy tail wrapped around Dice’s waist, lifting him clean off of the floor and pressing on the bruises on his torso.

 

“You  _ imbecile _ .” The Devil snarled as he brought Dice closer to his face. Dice found himself staring at a gigantic yellow eye as large as his head; the fact that said eye was bloodshot and swollen half-shut only added to the horror of the sight before him. “Look what you’ve done here.”

 

He knew how incriminating the ruined casino was, and felt a cold sweat trickle down his forehead as he wracked his brain for some sort of response. He was usually a smooth-talker, but right now he was left with nothing.

 

With a low growl, the Devil tossed him onto the ground. Dice skidded across the liquor-slicked carpet before slamming head-first into the bar counter.

 

Automatically, Dice climbed onto his knees, his sides searing with pain as he gasped for air. Gritting his teeth, he used the last of his strength to summon large, glowing card-minions in front of him, which fanned out to create a barrier between himself and the Devil.

 

“Looks like they got you too, boss,” he retorted between breaths. Summoning his Aces was usually trivial for him, but in his weakened state, he could barely stand to keep them from dissolving into thin air. “I told you there was something fishy going on with that Cup kid and the other one, boss. I’ve never seen powers like that before.” He paused for a moment before adding, “present company excluded, of course.”

 

The Devil howled with rage, knocking aside the card-minions with ease. His tail wrapped around Dice again, tossing him this time over the counter and into a row of slot machines. “You arrogant,  _ good-for-nothing little _ ”--the Devil paused to let loose a terrifying roar--”parasite. You and your damn mouth--this is all your fault--”

  
  


Using magic was out of the question right now, even if it was the only way to defend himself; Dice was already struggling to maintain consciousness without the demands of the extra exertion. He was weak already, and if the Devil kept tossing him around like a rag doll, he might actually kill him. The thought was met with little more than an eerie calm as he wondered what sort of fate would await him after death. Was it possible to be  _ banned from Hell _ , he wondered? Where else would he go? The thought of accidentally conning his way into Heaven by default made him smile to himself.

 

⚀

 

He woke up crumpled on the ground, with a shard of broken glass slicing into his cheek. A cool breeze floated in from a hole torn in the casino wall, bringing with it the chirping of crickets.

 

His leg felt like he had slept on it badly. He tried to drag himself to his feet to find himself stuck, and as he looked back, he discovered that his leg was pinned under a fallen slot machine. Dice’s stomach lurched as he took in the odd angle of his leg. Fighting the lightheaded feeling that was threatening to overcome him, Dice pulled as hard as he could and managed to yank himself free.

 

Was it possible to be in so much pain, that the body simply stopped registering any and all sensation? Dice felt oddly numb as he dragged himself towards the bar once again, rummaging through the debris until he found an unharmed green bottle of liquor. Gin wasn’t his favorite, but he knew he wasn’t in a position to be choosy, so he tossed the cap into the pile of rubbish and downed a generous gulp.

 

In this state, it was difficult for him to feel much of anything, even as he stared out at the wreckage that had once been his beloved casino. The Devil, apparently done torturing him, was nowhere to be found, nor were his staff. Dice wondered what had happened to the casino workers--maybe the Devil had taken them to Hell with him? He contemplated the lack of emotion that the image of his tortured staff conjured in his mind. After all of their years of service, he knew on some cerebral level that he was supposed to, or no, he  _ did _ care about them, but he was too out of sorts to put anything together.

 

Well, at least  _ he _ could still get out of here before the Devil came back to finish what he started--right? Dice’s deal with the Devil had never been a contract signed in his own blood. 

 

Dice and the Devil had, in essence, a business agreement: Dice collected money, and the Devil collected souls, making the Devil’s Casino was the perfect venture for them. Dice had always been proud of being the real shot-caller at the establishment; everyone who worked there knew that the Devil’s Casino could never thrive the way that it did without Dice’s signature charm. 

 

His service to the Devil was out of pride and loyalty, instead of obligation. Dice’s soul was still his, so the Devil couldn’t come to collect if he took off, could he? Dice frowned and took another sip of gin.  _ The Devil’s in the details _ , he reflected dryly. He had been so insistent as a young man that he was willing to devote his life in service to the Devil, that they had never bothered to work out any sort of conditions of his service.

 

There was also the initial pact that he had made, all those years ago, the ability to harness arcane magic in service of the Devil--could the Devil even take that away? Would Dice really be able to walk away from the ruins here, or would the Devil chase him back down and hold him to his word? If he was really  _ good for nothing _ , why would he waste the energy?

 

_ Screw it _ . Dice took a long drink of gin and carried the bottle out with him. Come what may, if he was going to die, then he might as well do it drunk, and might as well do it somewhere  _ less goddamn depressing _ .

 

⚀

 

The world was pitch dark, very hot, and smelled like grass and brine. Dice couldn’t see or feel anything, which didn’t alarm him as much as he knew it should have. His face felt comfortably numb, and the searing pain from his many wounds had faded into a comfortable numbness.

 

“Hey...hey, mister?” Dice winced as a soft, high-pitch voice registered from somewhere above his head. Sensation slowly began to return to him; first the pounding in his head, then the dull ache of his healing wounds, throbbing in sync with the beating of his heart.

 

He blinked his eyes and watched as he world swam into focus. The sun was scorching and high in the jay-blue sky. Dice was lying belly-up in a shallow pool of mud, still clinging to the seaglass-green bottle of gin. His body had sunk a comfortable amount  into the soft mud, which felt cool and refreshing in contrast to the searing summer sun. The lucid part of his mind realized that lying drunk in a mud puddle in the middle of the day, holding a bottle of liquor, was an incredibly pathetic way to find a man.

 

“Mister...Mister King Dice?” The owner of the voice was standing over him, but Dice couldn’t make out who they were. The speaker’s face was obscured from his angle.

 

“Mugs, come on. Leave him there.” This was another voice than the one that had awoken him, a little bit lower and slightly further away.

 

“Cuphead! He’s really hurt. He’s not waking up!”

 

“He deserves it, Mugs. Leave it be.” Footsteps squelched through the mud, and then Dice felt a sharp nudge on his arm, the distinct feeling of the sole of a shoe colliding with his shoulder. Dimly, he realized the irony of his position; on any given day, he could easily have expected himself to be the kicker, instead of the kickee. Kicking a man while they were down was certainly not a foreign concept to him.

 

“Don’t!”--the first voice, shrill with alarm, squeaked.

 

The offending kick had little power to it, but he was in enough pain already without adding insult to injury. Dice groaned, still not fully conscious of what was happening, except for the fact that it was extremely painful. His eyes fluttered closed again.

 

“He’s alive, see? We’re gonna be in trouble if we don’t get home soon for dinner.”

 

The voices sounded oddly familiar. Something about the two voices was ringing alarm bells in his head...

 

_ “You ain’t seeing the boss just yet. We’re gonna play a little game first!” Two boys stood before him in the Devil’s Casino, soul contracts in hand, and gazed bravely at him as he clapped his hands in malicious glee. They had to be tough to make it this far in a night and a day, he would give them that, but the overwhelming confidence that oozed from them was so  _ obnoxious _.  _ They made it this far, but let’s see them mess with me. I’ll show them...

 

_ No _ …Dice pressed a muddy hand against his forehead and hesitantly opened one eye. A pair of brown leather shoes and blue shorts stood over him, topped by a white head. A porcelain, mug-shaped white head.

 

_ Shit _ . Still paralyzed in a drunken stupor, Dice closed his eyes again and let his hands fall slack into the mud. He was incapable of doing much more than play dead and hope for unconsciousness to claim him once again.

 

Cotton candy-scented breath tickled his face. Mugman was now kneeling down beside him to examine him, poking at the torn fabric of his shirt and the gashes underneath. Dice’s eyes met Mugan’s for a brief second; the boy’s face stiffened noticeably as it registered to him that Dice was awake, but he said nothing. Dice was grateful that Mugman hadn’t announced to his brother that Dice was awake; the older boy seemed to be much more hostile.  

 

The horror evident in the Mugman’s expression as he continued to examine Dice’s wounds irked him for some reason.  _ The kid probably thinks he did this to me _ , he realized dimly. Certainly he had no way of knowing what had transpired between himself and the Devil. That Mugman would even think that he had that kind of power--he was  _ that _ much stronger than Dice--made his lip curl. Staring straight into the kid’s eyes, Dice winked. The visible terror on the child’s face was well worth the pain that lanced through him for crinkling a still very black eye.

 

“Can you be done now?” Cuphead’s voice now sounded slightly impatient. “Betcha he’ll still be here tomorrow.”

 

“He was just a pawn of the Devil, Cuphead. All the rest of them turned nice after we burned their soul contracts, too.”

  
  


What? This was news to Dice.  _ Burning soul contracts?  _ That would certainly explain why the Devil had been so furious with him--could they really have done such a thing?

 

The relentless heat of the day was beginning to wear on him. The pounding in his head was drowning out everything else. The surface of his skin suddenly felt freezing cold, and yet the air felt insufferably thick. What did those kids do now? It was like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the air…

 

⚀

 

When he came to, he was somewhere unfamiliar, staring at wooden slats on a ceiling. His left eye felt funny--weakly, he moved his hand to his face to find that his eye was covered in gauze. A strongly medicinal smell permeated the air, which also, he figured, accounted for the way that the cuts on his face and arms were tingling. Someone must have applied some sort of ointment to his wounds.

 

When he worked as the manager of the Devil’s Casino, Devil would tend to Dice’s wounds after a bad scrap. It was always a minion that would bring him home and patch him up, but then again, only the Devil had control over those little imps. The first time Dice was beaten up by at the casino was when he was just a card dealer. A pair of casino patrons, convinced that Dice had cheated them out of a month’s worth of wages, beat him within an inch of his life.  Dice awoke a few days later in his suite at the casino, wrapped up in bandages and with a splint on his wrist to ensure that the broken bone healed properly. The Devil sitting in the corner of his bedroom when he woke up, making himself at home on his red sofa, apparently waiting for Dice to come to.

 

⚄

 

_ The Devil trotted up to Dice with an unreadable expression in his yellow eyes. “Lookee here, who’s finally up.” _

  
  


_ Alarmed, Dice struggled into a sitting position. “Boss! I must’ve”-- _

  
  


_ The Devil pushed him back down by resting his tail-tip against Dice’s chest and flicking him back into a resting position. “All part of the trade, Dice, dear,” the Devil smirked. The young Dice shuddered as the Devil’s tail tenderly caressed his cheek; he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being toyed with. “You didn’t think working for the Devil would be all fun and games, did you?” _

  
  


_ “I’m sorry, Boss! I won’t be caught off-guard like that again--I think I got jumped”-- _

  
  


_ “Live and learn, Dicey,” the Devil responded. “You’ll recover just fine from this, I personally made sure of that. And don’t worry too much about getting back to work before you’re well again.” Dice inhaled the scent of cigar smoke as the Devil leaned in close to him with an impish look in his eyes. “You’ll have more work in your life than you could ever hope to finish.” In a puff of smoke, the Devil was gone, leaving Dice alone in bed. _

 

⚄

 

Wherever Dice was now, it was decidedly not his luxurious suite in the Devil’s Casino. For starters, everything was made of wood, and the room had a rustic sort of decor. On the wooden nightstand was a small porcelain figurine, no doubt handmade, of three figures--two small and cup-headed, and one larger and teapot-shaped…

 

_ You’ve got to be kidding me _ . Dice groaned as he stared around the room. Sunlight streamed in from a corner, and a small blue-and-white rug adorned the slatted floor. He was dressed in a pair of blue-and-white striped pajamas. A vial of medicine and roll of gauze lay on the nightstand next to the little figurine, all telltale signs that someone had been taking care of him. Someone who was decidedly not the Devil. Dice groaned, burying his head in a pillow. At this rate, his pride might never recover…

 

The next thing he heard was the sound of a door opening, and soft, hesitant footsteps heralded the arrival of Cuphead, carrying a glass of water. The boy’s eyes immediately narrowed as he looked at him.

 

“Oh. You’re up,” Cuphead said, setting the water down on the nightstand with a loud thud.

 

As much as he hated to admit it, water sounded like the most appealing thing to Dice at that moment. It lay tantalizingly within reach, promising him a momentary release from the pain in his head and throat. On the other hand, this would mean taking charity from that Cuphead kid.

 

“The Elder Kettle said you’re supposed to drink that, so.” Cuphead glared daggers at him and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re welcome.”

 

Well, the situation couldn’t really get any more humiliating anyways. Dice reached for the glass of water and knocked it back in a single, desperate gulp.

  
  


“I’m not getting more. The Elder Kettle’s not home, so nobody’s here to make me do it.” Cuphead interjected as soon as Dice was finished drinking.

 

Dice stared. “The Elder Kettle left you alone here with me?” he asked, feeling slightly incredulous. He might be soundly defeated, but he was still  _ dangerous _ . Everyone on the Inkwell Isles knew that much.

 

Cuphead smirked. “You really going to try something?” Before Dice had a chance to respond, Cuphead turned to leave, stopping to wrinkle his nose at Dice before slamming the door shut.

 

Of all the situations that Dice could have found himself in, this felt like the worst. Having the stuffing knocked out of him by a pair of kids was embarrassing on its’ own, but now he was at their mercy as they played nurse to him, apparently convinced that he was too incapacitated to be of any trouble. 

 

Dice pressed his bandaged hands together, summoning a small pink dice that floated above his outstretched palms. It wasn’t much, but it was a subtle reminder of the power he still had--one that the Devil himself couldn’t take away from him, nor Cuphead and Mugman. It was only a small comfort, but a little triumph nonetheless. So the Devil couldn’t strip him of his powers, after all.

 

The little act of magic took more of a toll on his stamina than he had anticipated. As the glowing dice rolled out of his hands and burst into sparks of light on the floor, he found himself sinking back into the bed and falling into a deep slumber.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starts with an extended flashback scene of a young hotshot King Dice meeting the Devil for the first time. Mugman plays nurse to King Dice and is a precious lil cinnamon roll. Plus some like, general moving the plot forwards stuff.

Dice first met the Devil in his first few weeks of working as a poker dealer at the Devil’s Casino, eight years before he heard the names ‘Cuphead’ and ‘Mugman’. His shift manager, a woman known to him as Martini, stopped by at the beginning of his shift. “Be on your best behavior today, honey,” she drawled, flicking him gently with a dry bar towel. “Don’t wanna be on the boss’s bad side, best believe that.”  
  
Dice, who was practicing a shuffling trick that he was sure would curry a few tips, looked up at her. “What’s he like?” he asked. He had heard little else from his coworkers than that the boss was ‘Hell to work under’ and ‘Satan himself’.  
  
Martini’s red-lacquered lips pursed. “Little slow, aren’t ya? Where d’you work, boy?”  
  
“The Devil’s Casino.” Dice spat the words back at her. He always hated Martini’s saccharine and condescending way of speaking.  
  
“There ya have it, then.” Martini turned to leave, trailing her fingertips across the shoulder of Dice’s dress shirt.  
  
Dice had always assumed that ‘the Devil’s Casino’ was just a name. The sleazy, run-down dump of a casino seemed to him to be an awfully anticlimactic to be run by the Bad Man himself.  
  
After a moment of hesitation, Martini turned around and leaned in close to Dice, as if she were about to share a dark secret. When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice was barely more than a frightened whisper.  
  
“You’re a sharp kid, honey, good with the ladies ‘specially--we all appreciate splittin’ tips when you’re working. So I’ll say this ‘cause I like having ya ‘round--don’t do nothin’ you might be regretting. The Devil likes to take advantage of folks who want to boast that they beat the Devil at a hand of poker. We ain’t never see them around after that.” The look in her olive-green eyes was sincere. “Steer clear and you’ll be just fine, honey, ya hear me?”  
  
Dice spotted the Devil a few hours later, watching a game of craps progress from a barstool. Dice wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but the Devil was no taller than he was, a beast with shaggy black fur, yellow eyes, and curved ivory horns. Were it not for the skittish looks that the patrons and staff alike were giving him, scattering like ashes in the wind the moment they caught a glimpse, the Devil would be almost interchangeable with anyone else Dice had seen that night. It was hard not to be a little disappointed.  
  
Well, Dice wasn’t afraid. He sauntered to the bar, leaned against the counter, and motioned to his coworker. “Whiskey on the rocks, thanks,” he said, offhandedly laying a few gold coins on the counter. His focus was solely on the Devil, who was sitting a few feet in front of him.  
  
  
  
The Devil, noticing Dice’s intense gaze, regarded him with a strange expression. "You’re an odd fella,” he told him, flashing a fanged grin  
  
“And you’re the Devil himself,” Dice responded smoothly, sweeping into a deep bow. When he looked up, the Devil’s mischievous smile was gone. “Everyone around here calls me Dice.”  
  
The Devil stared at him with a calculating gaze. “Many people go running in the opposite direction when they hear they’re working for the actual Devil, you know that?” he said, though his tone indicated that he didn’t expect Dice to respond. “In all my time, I’ve never had a single one come introduce themselves to me. You must have nerves of steel, boy.”  
  
He had impressed the Devil. Dice couldn’t help the smug smile that crept across his face. “I wanted to see for myself,” he gloated, cupping his hand over the glass of whiskey that the bartender slid to him before shuffling away as quickly as he could.  
  
The Devil cocked an eyebrow. “So--what do you think?”  
  
Dice’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered his options. “Hard to believe I’m talking to the Prince of Darkness himself,” he responded, managing to keep his tone flat. “Harder to believe that he’s writing paychecks to pour cocktails.”  
  
Judging by the sudden, maniacal cackling that followed, Dice’s answer was extremely amusing. Dice gritted his teeth in frustration, loathing the giddy look on the Devil’s face.  
  
“Ah--sorry, you’re too good! ‘What would the Devil be doing, owning this dump!’ is that what you’re thinking?” The Devil leaned in eagerly. “You know what kind of people these places attract, boy?”  
  
“The desperate.” There was no question about it, this was a question that Dice knew there was only one answer to. “People don’t gamble here for the glitz and the glamour, or to be kissed by Lady Luck. There’s nicer places for that. They come here when they think they’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to gain.” He paused momentarily, half-expecting the Devil to interrupt him with another burst of rapturous glee, but the Devil appeared to be listening intently. “What doesn’t stack up for me, though, is why someone with all the power in the world would choose a joint like this. There’s more money to be made on those party cruise liners, something like that.” There was even one here in Inkwell Isle, run by a swarm of flies. That the Devil would, instead, own the bawdy, neon-lit casino baffled Dice.  
  
Up until his last sentence, the Devil had worn an expression of intense fascination. At his last words, though, the Devil erupted again into a burst of laughter. “You mortals never cease to amuse me. The Devil doesn’t deal in money!” 

 

Dice shivered as a furry, spade-shaped tail-tip stroked his cheek condescendingly. “Money means nothing to me. I deal in souls.” A thin sheen of smoke began to rise from the Devil’s fur, and his yellow eyes took on a brighter gleam; for the first time, Dice could see that the being he was dealing with was truly the Devil. “People come here, ready to gamble their eternal fate in exchange for their simple wishes--fame, money, fortune. They come ready to take that bet if it means that they don’t have to beg God anymore for their dreams to come true. Poor saps, they are, because everybody knows”--   
  
“--that the house always wins.” Dice cut in, finishing the Devil’s sentence.   
  
“Not so big on manners, are you?” The Devil bared his teeth irritably.  Dice smiled haughtily in return.   
  
“You said it yourself, sir--people come here to lose. You want people to go all-in, you know what you do?” Dice gestured grandly with a sweep of his arm. “Give them a taste of the good life. Butter them up. Let them think they’re gonna win big, that the dice ain’t loaded here.” He paused to take a sip of whiskey. “Times won't always gonna be tough, people ain’t always gonna be desperate, but you know what never comes and goes? That people love to think they’re special, think they’re lucky. Give them just a little bit, and they’re putty in your hands.”   
  
The smile on the Devil’s face as Dice finished speaking was more shocked than amused. “I might have underestimated you--what’s the name, again? Diceman?”   
  
Dice extended a silk-gloved hand. “Sir, I'm Caleb Dice.”   
  


⚀   


  
The Devil sent Mr. Wheezy back to the casino to fetch King Dice a few hours after he leaving the then-unconscious Dice in a heap on the ground. Though he hated to admit it, a part of him was concerned for his casino manager, since he had firsthand knowledge of just how injured Dice was--after all, if anyone would know how to go about rebuilding the casino, it could only be Dice. 

 

The rest of the casino staff had done little more than just stare around blankly since he had dragged them down into the underworld. The unease that followed the Devil everywhere he went was to be expected, of course, but with the exception of a rare few like Dice who were able to stare the face of evil dead in the eye, it was difficult to accomplish anything with anyone who still had a free will, hence the soul contracts.

 

Most of the casino staff still had claim to their own souls, and preferred to report directly to Dice. The casino ran like a well-oiled machine so long as the Devil didn't intercede too much, and he was more than happy to let Dice do the dailies. A glaring oversight to this management scheme, though, was the massive hole that Dice left in his absence. The Devil had never known him to take a sick day; even at his worst he would have the staff report to him in his room.    
  
Dammit, Dice, you little prick, he thought to himself, gritting his fanged teeth. The foolhardiness in engaging Cuphead and Mugman for little more than his own amusement was so like Dice.   
  
“Boss.” A raspy voice interrupted his train of thought. The Devil looked up to see Mr. Wheezy standing before him with his head bowed.   
  
“I don't see Dice with you,” the Devil responded. “You were supposed to bring him right to me.”   
  
Mr. Wheezy looked troubled, and a puff of smoke burst from the top of his head. “He...he's in the wind, Boss,” he reported uncomfortably, bowing his head even further. “Looked everywhere. There's blood and some scraps of purple fabric, but he's not at the casino.”   
  
Well, that was just perfect. “He can't have made it far,” the Devil responded irritably. “I'd be surprised if he could walk past the damn front door. Go. Look harder.”   
  


⚀   


  
Dice was awakened from his uneasy rest by a light knocking at the door, followed by a hesitant voice that was unmistakably Mugman’s. “Mr. King Dice...sir?”   
  
He sighed. Now that he was beginning to come back to his senses, it was becoming increasingly clear that he wouldn't be able to sulk off this round of beatings in peace, not when he couldn't sit up from the stabbing pain in his gut. His pain had been steadily intensifying for the past hour or so, and he realized that he must have been given something to help ease his suffering. It was equal parts touching and humiliating, the situation he now found himself in.   
  
“You can come in,” he responded, bracing himself.   
  
Mugman, escorted by Cuphead and the Elder Kettle, shuffled into the room. The younger brother was holding a tray with a white teacup and a metal case of aspirin, while the older brother stood with his arms firmly crossed across his chest and a scowl on his face.   
“We heard you were awake now, so we brought you this,” Mugman offered meekly, setting the tray down bedside. “And medicine.”   
  
Nearly delirious from how badly he was aching, Dice immediately grasped for the tin of aspirin, rattling out a number of them into his palm.   
  
“Um...well, the Elder Kettle said you're supposed to have two at a time, so…” Mugman looked awkwardly over his shoulder for support, but was met only with a tense silence.   
  


_This kid_. Narrowing his eyes, Dice tossed the extra pills back into the tin, which clattered loudly in protest. The medicine was bitter on his tongue, and the tea he drank to wash them down was even more so--the bottom of the cup was full of tea leaves, and the liquid was a very dark amber color, as if it had been prepared by someone with only the slightest idea of what a cup of tea was supposed to be. Dice wondered if Mugman had made it himself.  
  
Mugman stared expectantly at Dice, pressing his palms together and tilting his head slightly. After a moment of stiff silence, it occurred to Dice what the boy was waiting for.  
  
“Thanks,” he muttered quietly, turning his eyes towards the ceiling.    
  
Mugman nodded, beaming from ear to ear.  
  
“Run along now, boys, please. I'm sure our...guest...needs to rest.” The Elder Kettle spoke up from where he was standing in the corner of the room, bent over his cane. As Cuphead and Mugman dashed out of the room in a hurricane of footsteps, he called after them, “don't wander too far, you both are going to help me with dinner tonight…”  
  
The Elder Kettle sighed, releasing a puff of steam through his spout as the sound of the children's shouting faded into the distance. “Those kids, sometimes…” he murmured to himself, before turning to Dice. “And you.”  
  
The tone of his voice was markedly sharper, and missing the gentle edge from when he had addressed Cuphead and Mugman. “I took you in because my boys are afraid that they put you in this spot, here. They have good intentions…” he trailed off with a trace of nostalgia, but hardened again as he focused his gaze on  Dice and added, “...which is more than you deserve.”  
  
Dice scowled, but understood that he was entirely at the mercy of the cup brothers and the Elder Kettle.  
  
“You were quite a bit worse for the wear,” the Elder Kettle continued matter-of-factly. “I can’t put you out on the street in the state that you’re in.” The Elder Kettle’s expression was extremely stern. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you’re indebted to my boys in a way that you can’t pay back.”  
  
Dice glowered indignantly, but allowed the Elder Kettle to continue speaking.  
  
“Now that the soul contracts have been burned, everyone is freed from the grip of the Devil, and things are changing quite a bit around here. Why, the Devil himself has gone into hiding! It goes without saying that your face brings back quite a few bad memories.”  
  
  
  
There it was again--that thing about the soul contracts again. Dice had a hazy memory of Cuphead and Mugman talking about something similar earlier. “I dunno what you’re on about, old man,” he responded.  
  
A short pause followed. “Ah, well--Cuphead and Mugman didn’t just defeat the Devil, they burned all of the soul contracts in the Devil’s office. In the end, they couldn’t hand over the souls of the debtors in exchange for their own freedom.” The Elder Kettle’s voice was unmistakably proud.  
  
Dice’s jaw slackened. “They couldn’t have. That’s...that’s impossible.”  
  
The Elder Kettle’s eyes crinkled kindly. “It isn’t, Mr. Dice. It will surely take you quite a while to recover, and when you do--why, all of Inkwell Isle has a new lease on life. In time, it seems you will, as well.” He turned to stare out the window, turning his back to Dice. “Will you be able to take this gift, and do something more than fall back to your old ways, I wonder…?”  
  
Dice’s head was spinning. If the Devil had lost all of his soul contracts, then that might explain why the Devil hadn’t come for him--much of the Devil’s power was drawn from the souls that he collected, and so an abrupt loss of all of his soul contracts would have the same effects as a massive loss of blood. Thinking back to his confrontation with the Devil, he realized now that perhaps, in his weakened state, the battle had taken as much of a toll on the Devil as it had on him. The thought was oddly comforting.  
  
From the way that the Elder Kettle was talking, it was clear that he believed Dice to have been acting under a soul contract as well. Dice’s ego wanted to lay plain that he , in contrast to the debtors, had chosen to work for the Devil, instead of falling victim to misfortune and ending up in eternal servitude. Consciously, though, he knew that the Elder Kettle’s misconception of things put him at an advantage--from the Elder Kettle’s eyes, Dice appeared much more sympathetic than he really was. Under the compromising circumstances he found himself in, Dice couldn’t afford to lose any scrap of power that he had; he bit his tongue.  
  
“I’ll leave you be, Mr. Dice.” The Elder Kettle took his leave, closing the door quietly behind him. Dice listened to the thumping of the Elder Kettle’s cane, pondering the situation that he was in.  
  
Before long, as the pain medicine lulled him back into a numb, comfortable slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead has some advice for King Dice that he may or may not be ready to hear; the Devil plots to reopen the Devil's Casino without his manager.

To Dice’s surprise, it was Cuphead who brought him dinner, unaccompanied by his brother or the Elder Kettle. The boy set down a tray holding a bowl of soup and two cartons of apple juice in front of King Dice, then grabbed a carton of juice from the tray and retreated to sit in a chair in the corner of the room.

Remembering the tea that had been prepared for him earlier, Dice inspected the bowl of soup closely before taking a bite. It looked like some kind of chicken and wild rice soup, speckled with carrots and celery. The carrots were a little undercooked, and the creamy broth was a little less seasoned than he would have liked, but it was still pretty tasty. His stomach growled, reminding him that he couldn't remember the last time he had a proper meal.

“Can I ask you a question?” Cuphead spoke up suddenly. The boy’s voice had an edge of unnecessary force, as if he had been waiting for the right opportunity to speak.

“I'm certainly not in a position to stop you,” Dice said.

“What  _ happened _ ? I mean, really.” Cuphead leaned against the edge of his seat. “Mugs thinks we busted you up like this, and he just tried real hard to forget, but I’d remember...  _ that.  _ ” Dice tried his best not to grimace as Cuphead gestured in his direction. He knew that he looked rough, but he still didn’t like being reminded of it.

“What d’you think happened?” he responded with a sigh. He didn’t have the right words to explain to the kid that he had  _ additionally _ taken a beating from the Devil, and he was too tired to find them.

Cuphead tilted his head, and stared at him with wide, curious eyes. “The Devil wasn’t happy with you,” he said finally. “We beat him up pretty bad, too, though, so…”

Right on the nose--the kid wasn’t quite as clueless as he looked. Dice snorted. “It’s the  _ Devil _ , Cup,” he said. “I’ll give ya credit where it’s due, you did a hell of a job with those debtors--and then some. But don’t go thinking that it’s ever gonna happen again.”

The boy looked reproachfully at Dice, then directed his face towards the floorboards. Dice paused, remembering the Elder Kettle’s warning words about being indebted to the boys. Perhaps now wasn’t the right time for him to lash out about how unlikely the whole situation was.

Before he could speak, though, Cuphead broke the silence. “So, what are you gonna do, once you get better?” He asked, kicking at the floor idly. “Are ya gonna go back to the Devil’s Casino?”

The earnestness in his tone caught Dice off-guard. He hadn’t had the time or capacity to think much about what was going to happen next, and the mere suggestion of a future beyond his next few weeks of recovery twisted a knot in his stomach that made it difficult to breathe. The Devil’s Casino had been his pride and joy, his lifeblood; though he had been the one to walk away, he still hadn’t come to terms with losing it.

“Don’t go back to working for the Devil,” Cuphead interjected suddenly. “You know what he called you? His ‘good-for-nothing lackey’. It’d be an awful shame for you to go running back there when you’re finally free now.”

Dice knew the Devil must have had some harsh words about him, but it still stung to know that his boss had called him ‘good-for-nothing’ to a couple of kids. Completely disarmed, Dice stared into his bowl of soup. It occurred to him that his dinner was getting cold, and he shoved a spoonful into his mouth and silently prayed that Cuphead wouldn’t say anything more. To his great relief, a tense and awkward silence held the room like a spell.

_ Good for nothing, huh? _ He’d certainly never thought of himself that way. Dice had never made a secret of the fact that he saw himself as above the rest of the casino workers because of his cunning and ambition. Most of the employees who worked at the casino had been around long enough to watch his unexpected rise from a simple blackjack dealer to the casino manager and hand of the Devil, and he relished the look of fear in his former co-workers’ eyes as they watched his power continue to grow. His rise to prominence was unprecedented, he knew--how could the Devil really be so dismissive of him? It was hard to accept, even in the face of his worst fumble to date.

The look on Cuphead’s face, more concerned than spiteful, twisted the knife further into Dice’s chest. He didn't want pity from a kid.

“Mister, um, King Dice?” Dice didn't realize that he was taking so long to respond until Cuphead jumped in. For the first time, Dice heard a note of hesitation in Cuphead’s voice. The look on the kid’s wide eyes was like that of a deer in the headlights of a steam train. The conversation had certainly taken a turn into territory that Cuphead had neither expected nor prepared for. 

 

Dice was surprised to feel a twinge of empathy as he looked at the boy’s face. It was only a few days ago that the kid had the scare of a lifetime, traveling the Inkwell Isles to collect debts and brawl against fully-grown opponents who were imbued with the Devil’s powers. Cuphead and his kid brother had  _ won,  _ sure, but it was bound to leave a pretty nasty scar on their psychology.

And he was responsible. For the first time, Dice thought of what he had done and felt a sickening wave of regret.

Cuphead was clearly beginning to panic at Dice’s sudden wave of emotion. He ground his heels into the ground and wrung his white-gloved hands together. “Erm…” the boy muttered.  

Dice leaned back into his pillow, turning his face towards the ceiling. “Yeah?”

Cuphead appeared to be thinking very hard for a moment, before a slightly devious grin crossed his face. “The Baroness made us a cake, for...um, you know.” He tactlessly avoided mentioning his deal with the Devil.

Well,  _ that  _ was out of left field. Dice’s eyebrows furrowed. “Baroness von Bon Bon? I've heard of her,” he responded.

“Yeah, she made us a cake,” Cuphead responded with a nod. “Mugman and the Elder Kettle left to get some stuff from the emporium. The Elder Kettle said no dessert tonight, but do you think…maybe...you want some?”

Dice regarded the kid with amusement. “What’s in it for you?” he asked wryly. It occurred to him that Cuphead was trying to cheer him up under the guise of childish antics, and he appreciated the gesture enough to play along.

Cuphead couldn't contain a soft giggle. “Well, the Elder Kettle can’t be mad if I brought the cake to make you feel better. But gee, it would be rude to just eat it  _ in front of me  _ without offering me any...”

Dice smiled knowingly. “Alright,” he said. “Ya know what? Some cake sounds just swell.”

⚀

Dice or no Dice, the Devil would have to start rebuilding the Devil’s Casino at some point. He was almost back to full health, though he knew that, without the souls of the Inkwell Isle debtors, his powers wouldn't quite be what he remembered them to be.

The ruins of his casino were more depressing than he remembered it, from the time he had come to the overworked to confront Dice. He lit a cigar, puffing slowly as he made his way around the destroyed casino floor, surveying the damage.

He half-expected to see Dice amongst the rubble, restored to full strength and wearing his favorite lilac suit, playing idly with his favorite deck of magic aces. ‘ _ I’m on it, Boss,’    _ Dice would say. ‘  _ People are gonna be as dumb as they were before, don’t worry ‘bout that. In no time at all, we’ll have robbed them blind twice over, eh, Boss?’ _

Dice’s arrogant and sycophantic “Devil’s right-hand man” schtick used to annoy the Devil to no end. It annoyed him even more because he knew Dice was too hard-headed to understand that, in the grand scheme of eternity, the life and death of little Caleb Dice would mean very little to Satan himself.

What annoyed him the most was that how he was finding himself wishing Dice were here right now. Dice had always been just useful enough to think he had some value to the Devil, and just annoying enough for the Devil to wish that he didn’t. Dice really was a spectacular casino manager, and shockingly adept at swindling people out of their souls; it eventually reached the point where the Devil granted Dice the power to sign the soul contracts as his proxy, since it was becoming so cumbersome to come up from Hell to deal with each case individually. 

 

Dice had been right about the casino, too--after he was promoted to manager, the aesthetic upgrades that he gave the casino  _ had  _ been good for business. Looking around at the ornately detailed red carpet, the ballroom-style ceiling, the polished wood furnishings that practically glowed even in the dim light of the casino--the whole thing screamed  _ King Dice  _ .

The Devil hissed with frustration and clambered over a card table that had been crushed underneath a chandelier.

Although nobody was speaking about it out loud, news that the King had left the Devil’s Casino spread like wildfire through the rest of the staff. Although nobody dared ask him about what would happen to Dice, from what his minions were reporting, it seemed to be the general consensus that Dice was going to be captured, tortured, and maybe have his head mounted on the wall of the Devil’s Casino.

It was kind of tempting, considering the mess that Dice had left in his wake. But the Devil knew that would never work if he wanted to preserve a chance at winning souls again. Dice was a well-known, if not entirely well-loved, figure to the Inkwell Isles, and killing him off would be a sure way to ensure that nobody with an ounce of common sense would come within a mile of the Devil’s Casino ever again. Image was important, Dice had been the one to teach him that--there was a reason that he had never sent anyone to collect on the soul contracts until the cup boys begged him for a way out of their own debts. If he wanted anyone to come to the casino, then they couldn’t associate the place with terrifying monsters that left the soulless husks of their neighbors lying scattered around the Inkwell Isles.

For now, the most important thing was to rebuild the casino. With his minions to keep a careful eye on the staff of the casino, the Devil could do that much without Dice.

The Devil paced aimlessly as he thought, and was surprised to find that he had led himself to Dice’s suite above the Casino. The room was orderly and ornate, just like everything about Dice. A purple robe was draped over the duvet, and a few purple jackets, the ones that Dice  _ insisted  _ on wearing at all times during work, were hung on the door frame.

The room still smelled faintly like Dice. It was odd, how a place could smell so distinctly  _ like  _ someone, so strongly that it felt like the person was there. Standing in the empty room, the Devil could almost hear Dice’s haughty laugh. Dice always smelled like tobacco and mints and that expensive cologne he insisted on having sent to him, even though it was entirely impractical. In Dice’s presence, the Devil always hated the smell of that cologne. Like Dice himself, it was sleazy and unnecessarily pompous and had all the subtlety of being hit in the face with a baseball bat.

The Devil heaved a sigh and curled up on Dice’s violet duvet, resting his head on the robe that lay there, patiently waiting for its owner to return home. Sunlight streamed in past the maroon drapes, making the room comfortably warm.

He didn't miss King Dice, the Devil thought to himself, as he closed his eyes and let the warm overworld sunlight lull him to sleep. He’d just been through a lot lately, and he needed some rest…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't wrote a lot of multi-chapter fanfiction, so I know that I'm really bad (or maybe just.....really, REALLY slow?) at moving along romantic subplots. I promise that this is all building up to something :D
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dice's absence starts to weigh on the Devil. Meanwhile, Dice realizes both the joys and the roadblocks of life without the Devil as he continues living with the cup brothers.

The Devil gave Dice two weeks, tops. Dice was hard-headed and proud, but there was only so much even Dice could take before running back to him, having been thoroughly chewed up and spat out by the outside world. 

Being a betting man, the Devil might have liked to bet on the odds that Dice would come back to him within two weeks, kneel before his throne, and beg forgiveness. Making a game of it would make the waiting period more enjoyable.   
  
There was nobody to left to place a bet with, though. The only person bold enough to make a petty gamble with the Devil was Dice. Instead, to pass he time, the Devil liked to imagine how the conversation would go:   
  
_ “I’m sorry,” Dice would whisper, and prostrate himself before the Devil’s throne. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Remember this moment, you nitwit,” the Devil would hiss back. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Yes, boss.” The Devil would watch Dice’s shoulders shake, and feel satisfied that he had learned his lesson. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “You better tread very carefully, ya hear me?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Yes, boss.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Then the Devil would reach down, himself, and offer his own hand to help Dice back to his feet. Dice would look up at him with a dopey and startled expression in his bright green eyes. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “C’mon...I don’t deserve this,” he would mutter, struggling to bring himself to a standing position. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “So remember that, next time.” The Devil would snicker, but wrap his arm around Dice’s waist so he could lean against him for support. 

_ He would send Dice back to his suite at the casino, and send an imp to him as a personal assistant as Dice recovered from his beatings and supervise the reopening of the casino. The Devil could then return to doing what he enjoyed the most, which was observing things from afar and amuse himself with the stupid goings-on of the Devil’s Casino while he let Dice do the hard work. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Everything would go back to the way that they had been. _   
  
He knew that it was wrong to want Dice to return and grovel to him. Even the Devil himself had an understanding of morality, even if he didn’t take it upon himself to adhere to its conventions. But between years of frustration with the little egomaniac, the way Dice had left a trail of destruction behind him as he turned over all of their soul contracts to the two cup boys and then wrecked the casino, and now his absence in the moment where he was needed the most--all of it contributed to a storm of emotions that was too overwhelming to think through critically. All the Devil could process was that he needed Dice back, and  __ God , did he hate that man .   
  
Then two weeks passed, and two weeks turned to three. When one of his imps appeared before him one day to announce that the casino had been restored and was ready to be reopened,the Devil found himself feeling almost melancholy. 

Somehow, it had never occurred to him that Dice wouldn’t be back before the casino would reopen. Who would take care of business, checking in on the kitchen and ensuring that none of the customers were getting away with cheating? Who would keep the rowdier staff members in line, when they started to become unruly after a long night of working and drinking? The casino staff had been patently unpromising, having still done nothing but whisper amongst themselves, huddled away from his minions. He hated to admit it, but it was plain as day that nobody could fill the role of King Dice.   
  
What could be done? The Devil refused to admit, even to himself, that he needed Dice back badly enough to go looking for him. So the Devil arranged for signs to go up at the pier and in the downtown district of Isle Three, and sent the staff of the casino back into the overworld to do their jobs. Even so, re-opening night was quiet, especially without Dice prowling the casino floor like a jackal, sizing up the night’s patrons for easy pickings. Nursing a glass of bourbon, the Devil stared off into the distance, watching the neon lights of the ‘DEVIL’S CASINO’ sign garishly light up the night.   
  
Had Dice been involved in the re-opening of the casino, he would have been furious at such an outcome. He would either be storming about, threatening everyone that came within a five-foot radius that they goddamn better get back to work, if they didn’t want to to be dragged down into eternal damnation _right the fuck_ now, or he would be a hurricane of charm and action that refused to accept a quiet defeat.   
  
More than likely, though, if Dice had been here to reopen the casino, business would be booming right now. Dice, dressed in a crisply-pressed tuxedo and perhaps sporting a cane as he overcame the effects of the wallopping he had endured, would be next to him at the bar, sipping a cocktail and shoving a thick stack of signed soul contracts at the Devil. They would clink their glasses in celebration and share a smug laugh as they watched the gears of the casino turn.   
  
_ I miss Dice _ . The thought startled the Devil, appearing from seemingly nowhere and dancing across his brain. When he looked up, for a second he thought he could see Dice in the corner of his eye. King Dice was leaning haughtily against the bar counter, and whispered something to one of the young poker dealers, a kid with a stack of poker chips for a head. The whole thing was so mundane, so perfectly ordinary for Dice, that for a split second it didn’t register to the Devil that his eyes were deceiving him.   
Then he shook his head, and Dice was gone.   
  
_ I miss him. _   


  
  
⚀⚀   
  


  
  
The first few days that Dice spent in the Elder Kettle’s home were miserable and awkward. Mugman and Cuphead were always behind every door, cautiously observing him like a tiger in a zoo, which was a mixed curse and a blessing since he needed someone to help him every time he got out of bed. 

He got used to it, though. He could get used to almost anything. He didn’t have any intentions of exacting revenge on the boys in this state, nor of causing any trouble. After a few days, the boys stopped needing each other or the Elder Kettle for support in order to check in on him, and he more or less faded into the backdrop of their lives. He spent most of his first few weeks asleep, anyways: being in a constant state of low-grade pain was exhausting.   
  
One month after the Inkwell Isles celebrated Cuphead and Mugman’s fight defeat of Devil, the boys came home from a day at the Inkwell Carnival holding a small cloth bag. 

“Look what we won!” Cuphead crowed, thrusting the fist-sized bag into the air.   
  
“What is it, boys?” the Elder Kettle prompted encouragingly. To his and Dice’s surprise, the boys ran up to Dice, who was sitting in a chair next to the hearth. Cuphead and Mugman exchanged a glance, and nodded at each other. Seemingly in agreement, Cuphead emptied the contents of the bag into his palm.   
  
A few dice rolled out of Cuphead’s hand and bounced to the floor; Mugman dove to retrieve them with a sheepish grimace. 

A smile escaped Dice’s face in spite of himself, and he reached out to examine one of the game pieces. Other than the rounded edges and black pips, the game pieces bore a distinct resemblance to himself, one that Cuphead and Mugman clearly thought he would find amusing. Truthfully, it was more amusing to him that they thought he would still get a kick out of such a thing. He had worked at the Devil’s Casino for eight years, so he was no stranger to dice, although the ones stocked at the casino were sharp-edged and made of translucent, colorful resin.   
  
“These are nice, lads,” he said. He thought his remark may have sounded condescending, but the boys nodded along with genuine enthusiasm. Dice chuckled and tossed the die upwards, bouncing it in his palm in a fluid, practiced motion. “You oughta have me check these, though. It’d be just like them  carnies to give ya rigged dice.” With a flourish, he presented the dice back to Cuphead.   
  
“Well, Mr. Dice,” Cuphead said brightly. The young boy was sporting a jack-o-lantern sized grin.  He clasped his hands behind his back as he inquired innocently to Dice, “See, Mugs and I don’t know any good games to play with these dice here. But we thought maybe...you could teach us?”   
  
“Not gambling for money or...no real gambling,” Mugman appended hastily.   
  
Cuphead rolled his eyes at his brother’s amendment, but a harsh glance from the Elder Kettle led him to nod begrudgingly.   
  
Dice smiled, and genuine excitement bathed him in a gentle, golden warmth. “Why, I think I know just the thing,” he offered. “If you may, it might be good if we found our way to a table…that kitchen table would do quite nicely, I think... “ The boys scurried over to help him up, and he caught the Elder Kettle’s eye as he limped past. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but he swore that the old man winked at him as he walked by.   
  
Living with under the Elder Kettle’s roof became tolerable after that afternoon. The boys were quick learners and eager to learn everything Dice had to teach them, and he had a lifetime of table games in his arsenal. 

His wounds were healing cleanly with regular care and the help of antibiotic ointment from the drugstore, and the gashes on his skin turned with time from oozing wounds into pearl-pink scars that peppered his alabaster skin. Thankfully, the fractures in his dice began to heal of their own accord. His good looks would make a full recovery, it would seem. 

It was a slower and sleepier pace than Dice had ever experienced in his life, but he didn't mind it.  _ Vacation days _ were not a concept understood by the Devil, and managing a twenty-four hour casino for years had slowly compounded into a lot of sleep debt. Dice spent a lot of his first few weeks asleep. 

Once he could move about freely on his own, Dice asked the Elder Kettle if there was anything he could help take care of. He was sure that it would be more trouble than he was ready for yet to strike out on his own, and he didn't want to run out of good will with the Elder Kettle before he was ready to move on. Besides, it was obvious that Cuphead and Mugman were a handful, and he had begun to notice the numbering of sighs that the old teapot exhaled as he chased the brothers throughout the day, caring for them and cleaning up after them.   
  


“If you could cook, that would be splendid,” the Elder Kettle suggested gratefully. “The boys are getting older now, and they sure can eat! It’s hard for me to keep up with their appetites sometimes.”

“Can’t be harder than keepin’ a whole casino fed,” Dice told him. On that night, he prepared a hearty pot of jambalaya from things he found in the Elder Kettle’s pantry. His mother had taught him the recipe as a child, and he had since perfected it into a symphony of rice, peppers, sausages, and spice. 

Just as he had expected, his jambalaya was a hit at the dinner table. “You should cook every day!” Cuphead remarked. “The Elder Kettle never makes us spicy foods.”

 

That was that, then; from that day forth, Dice prepared the meals, and recruited the boys into cleaning dishes. Cuphead, who had taken to following him about like a curious shadow, took up the role of sous chef. It was frustrating at first to have to teach him how to chop an onion and fillet a chicken, but Cuphead was more enthusiastic than any of the cooks at the casino, and about as talented. 

 

They found a comfortable rhythm in the kitchen together: Cuphead chopped and mixed and bombarded Dice with questions, and Dice would supervise and season and tell stories from his life at the casino. It was annoying at first to have a pint-sized sidekick, but Dice grew used to it. After a while, he began to find Cuphead’s innocence kind of refreshing. 

  
He was bored, though. Dice needed constant activity and attention; he didn’t take well to boredom. He couldn’t remember the last time that so many days went by without working. His first memories were of helping his father run the family’s corner store. Although the nature of the casino allowed him to sleep in a fair amount, he seldom spent more than a few hours away from the place.

Dice didn’t like feeling indebted to the Elder Kettle, either. The genuine camaraderie that he had fostered with the boys, especially with Cuphead, could only carry him so far--he was a financial burden at best, and safety liability at worst, for everyone living under the Elder Kettle’s roof. Dice was at peace--maybe too much so--with his vices, but it was hard for him to reconcile taking on so much charity. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve it--Dice knew that he didn’t, but wasn’t that how everyone lived, taking what they needed to get by? It was the sense of comfortable permanence that had been established in this arrangement--the boys happily babbled to him about their plans to build ice-forts when the first snows fell, and about the trappings that Isle One set up for the children to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve. Cuphead and Mugman were living in a fairy-tale story that they had taken in the bad guy, and through kindness and goodwill had turned him into their friend.

He couldn’t trust the Elder Kettle to break their delusion, either. Even as his physical wounds healed until he scarcely noticed them anymore, the old man had never broached the subject of when Dice would have to leave. 

  
The endless generosity of the Elder Kettle was starting to make Dice suspicious, quite frankly. Despite the modest trappings of their cottage in the woods, Dice had noticed that their meals were quite rich and lavish, and often featured ingredients that had to be shipped in from the mainland. He had his suspicions that the Elder Kettle was secretly a man of considerable means, who raised the boys in a quiet environment because he thought it would contribute more favorably to their character.

Who  _ was _ he, anyways? He seemed much too old to be Cuphead and Mugman’s father--and then, what about their mother? There were a lot of questions left unanswered, which made Dice feel uncomfortable, like he was the redeemed villain in the a storybook fable.    


  
⚅⚀   


  
_ He had to leave. _

Once the thought entered his mind, it rapidly infused him with a sense of desperation until he was sitting at the foot of his bed, waiting for the light shining under the door to disappear, signaling that the Elder Kettle had at last gone to bed for the night. He wanted to leave in the cover of darkness. He knew that he couldn’t look them in the eye and tell them that he was going back to the Devil’s Casino for this things. He could see the looks on their faces--the worry on Mugman’s, the silent judgment on the Elder Kettle’s, and the disappointment on Cuphead’s--and he knew that he couldn’t put up with any of that.

He didn’t need to stay at the Casino, he rationalized. At the very least, he just needed some of his old possessions, so he could have a shred of his dignity back. He couldn’t just keep wearing the same two shoddy outfits that Cuphead and Mugman had brought back one day from the mom-and-pop clothing store on Isle One.   
  
He had no belongings of his own here, but it still felt wrong to leave empty-handed. He slipped the tin of aspirin into his pocket as he combed through the dresser drawers for anything useful. He had a handful of coins in his pocket when Cuphead and Mugman first found him in the street after leaving the Devil’s Casino, but he suspected those were long gone; he wouldn’t put it past Cuphead to squirrel them away when nobody was looking, and if he hadn’t, then some other Inkwellian had surely gotten their kicks at stealing money from a helpless and beaten King Dice.     
  
He did find a small wooden box with a number of gold coins, tucked into the back of the bottom drawer behind a dusty leather notebook. His breath caught as he reached for a pillowcase to stifle the jangling of the coins as he opened the box.   
  
It wasn’t enough scratch to be the Elder Kettle’s life savings, but it was too much to be a forgotten piggy bank of Cuphead’s or Mugman’s. Dice narrowed his eyes thoughtfully before reaching in, removing a good number of the coins, and scattering the remainder across the bottom of the box.   
  
A lump rose in his throat as he wrapped the coins in a handkerchief and slipped them into his pants pocket. He had been living off of dirty money for many years, but it felt strange to be stealing from the kids who were, earlier that evening, begging him to tell them a bedtime story.   
  
He pushed the thought away as he opened the door and headed down the hallway.  _ God _ , was he getting soft. He paused at the front door as a wave of foreboding crashed over him, flooding him with bittersweet memories of the few weeks that he had spent here.   
  
“You’re leaving.”  _ Crap _ . Dice’s head whirled around to find Cuphead standing behind him, dressed in pajamas, with his arms folded across his chest.   
  
“Don’t blow your wig, kid. I just need some stuff,” Dice said. He could feel his cheek muscles twitch as he bared his teeth in an unconvincing smile.   
  
Cuphead’s eyes narrowed, and he tapped his foot impatiently. “You’re going back to the casino,” he said incredulously. “Good gosh, Mr. Dice, why on earth would you do that?”   
  
Dice rolled his eyes, trying not to belie his exasperation at the racket that Cuphead was making. “You and your family have been more than kind,” he said, glaring at the hallway and willing Mugman and the Elder Kettle to stay asleep. “But I can’t live off charity forever, kid.”   
  
Cuphead looked unconvinced. “And then?”   
  
“Then what?” Dice sighed. “What do I look like, some kind of oracle? I don’t have the answers.”   
  
Cuphead looked hurt, and Dice inhaled sharply, realizing the effect that his tone had taken on the boy.   
  
“But you’re...coming back?” Cuphead asked hesitantly. “You mean you’ll get your things, and then you’re coming back here?” The pleading sincerity in Cuphead’s face twisted Dice’s stomach into knots.   
  
“Gosh, I dunno. I’ve gotta make it on my own sometime, don’t I?” Dice argued. It had been a mistake to let the boys get so attached to him, he thought suddenly. How cruel it had been, to let them get attached to a no-good con man.   
  
“Let me come with ya, then,” Cuphead offered. “I can fend for myself, and your leg’s not all the way better yet. You might need some help if the Devil comes”--   
  
“ _ Dammit _ !” Dice hissed through his teeth. Cuphead stopped immediately, and his eyes grew round and wide as he stared at Dice. “I don’t need some kinda sidekick, ya hearing me?”   
  
Cuphead’s head tilted to one side. “But, the Devil…” he began helplessly.   
  
Dice groaned softly. At this point, it was almost a sure thing that they had woken Mugman and the Elder Kettle, and he half-expected them to burst in at any minute, dragging out this miserable goodbye. “Believe it or not, I can deal with the Devil,” Dice snorted. “I don’t need a pack of pipsqueaks to take care of me, thanks.”   
  
Cuphead frowned. “You didn’t want to go back to the Devil,” he pressed insistently. “He didn’t treat you good, and he made everyone else hate you.”   
  
“ _ I _ did that,” Dice snapped. “Don’t go looking for me, we clear?” Inhaling a deep breath, Dice swung the door front door open, and was greeted with a cool gust of predawn air.   
  
“You’re not coming back.” Surprised, Dice glanced over his shoulder at Cuphead. The kid had fallen far from the tough act he had been putting on before, and was now sniffling at Dice, pouting at him with watery eyes. “You  _ are _ good for nothin’ but being the Devil’s lackey.”   
  
Dice’s eyes closed for a second, and he dared himself to meet Cuphead’s teary gaze. Momentarily, the tension and anger he had felt dissolved, and he reminded himself:  _ you don’t have to stay at the casino _ . “I’ll be seeing ya,” he said stiffly.   
  
The door closed behind him, separating him from Cuphead. Dice glanced at the sliver of the moon in the sky, took a deep breath, and started walking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dice returns to the Devil's Casino.

Traveling by foot was the cumbersome sort of thing that Dice had never had time for. Most days he was far too busy to get away from the casino at all, and when he did, jumping through subspace and taking shortcuts through Hell felt like a much more fitting way for the King himself to travel. 

 

Today, though, since he doubted he'd be welcome to jump through the underworld to shave time off of his commute to the casino, Dice had to walk. He started by strutting away from the Elder Kettle’s home, ignoring the twinge in his leg from walking at such a brisk pace. He was going to the Devil’s Casino to take back the things that were rightfully his. Being the manager of a bustling casino was more than just making back-alley deals for souls, he had always done more than his share of honest work to keep the casino afloat. It seemed only right that he was entitled to at least some of what he had saved for himself. It would be easier to start over if he wasn't living in the Elder Kettle’s spare bedroom. 

 

The sun slowly began to turn the sky shades of indigo, then pink and tangerine, and the light began to beckon the villagers from their homes. As he crossed through the Isle One town square, the looks that the people gave him began to make him feel a bit self-conscious. Mothers hesitantly pulled their children closer, and a man with an apple for a head gave him a full-on glare as he passed. Dice pointedly stared straight ahead as he continued on towards Isle Two, feeling quite like a social pariah. His height and die-shaped head, which glinted in the fading sunlight, didn’t help make him feel any less conspicuous. 

 

His plan had been to take the quickest route through the Die Houses to check on the state of affairs there; if the Devil’s Casino were back in operation, he wondered if he his secondary offices were being managed as well. The two were identical, and served as convenient meeting locations for him to discuss soul contract details. Unlike his work at the Devil’s Casino, which involved a lot of unpleasant business dealing with the often rowdy and drunk patrons, the Die Houses were his havens--everything that happened there, happened on  _ his _ terms. They were, he had always thought, stations set up for him to properly rule his domain.

 

_ Good grief _ , he thought to himself, shaking his head irritably. Had he really been that arrogant? It was no wonder that he was so disliked. He pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away and veered around the Die House between Inkwell Isles One and Two, taking a longer route that twisted away from the carnival and into the mountains. This path might be longer, but at least he would be less likely to have to deal with anyone on his way. 

 

Dice’s trip through Inkwell Two was quiet, but by the time he reached Inkwell Three, he was winded and disheveled. The last fading rays of sunlight were sinking beneath the skyline, and a cool breeze floated in from the coast, bringing with it a heavy fog and the scent of brine. He hadn’t realized it while he was cooped up in the Elder Kettle’s home, but the warm summer weather was rapidly giving way to the cooler days of Autumn. Dice’s thin cotton shirt was soaked with sweat and clung to his body, and he shivered, cursing the way that his body ached in protest as he pushed forwards.

 

Since Inkwell Three was the metropolis of the Isles, being seen was inevitable. As he passed through the seedier outskirts of downtown, he heard a few people call his name from inside of the dimly-lit bars. It occurred to him that someone with a bone to pick might jump him, and he frowned, bowing his head and willing his legs to move faster despite the painful stress that the exertion was putting on his healing limbs. He took a deep breath and conjured a glowing deck of aces in his palm. The cards rippled in anticipation, but he kept them clutched in his palm. With all of the Devil’s contracts burned, he was probably one of the few magic users left on the Inkwell Isles, at least he had that advantage in a fight. The thought wasn’t as much of a comfort to him as he hoped it would be.

 

Finally, he found himself staring up at the neon sign for the Devil’s Casino. These were prime business hours for the casino, and yet he was the only one standing on the large red steps. A tremendous sense of foreboding overcame him, and he found himself shaking, idly letting the deck of aces shuffle themselves in his outstretched palm. 

 

If nothing had happened to him yet, he reasoned, then the Devil probably wasn’t looking to kill him. He had been walking alone, after all; how hard would it have been to send a minion for him? Even Mangosteen, the casino’s bouncer, probably could have taken him in the state he was in.

 

Adjusting his shirt in an attempt to make himself look more presentable, Dice hesitated, then walked straight towards the doors to the Devil’s Casino.  _ Shoulders back _ , he reminded himself.  _ Take what’s yours. _

 

⚁⚀

 

The doors swung open, blasting him with the sleazy scents of liquor, cigar smoke, and fried snacks. Dice was temporarily taken away in a current of nostalgia--it felt as if he had never left. He did a cursory sweep of the room, instinctively looking for the usual--anyone who went to the casino alone were usually there not for pleasure, but to change their luck, easy targets to nab a soul contract; employees slacking off, sulking in the dim corners; any sign of lots of commotion, which usually meant that some patron believed Lady Luck to be on their side tonight.

 

Dice’s eyebrow shot up, and he frowned as he scanned his domain. Other than a few skeletons playing billiards, the casino was empty, hauntingly devoid of the hustle-bustle that Dice had grown used to in his tenure as the manager. A rush of frustration shot through him--of  _ course _ he couldn’t leave the casino for  _ one moment _ , without coming back to a miserable wreck--before he reminded himself that the casino was no longer his responsibility.

 

_ Get in, get out. This ain’t your turf anymore _ , he reminded himself, holding his breath as he realized he was about to step straight onto the casino floor. 

 

His misstep quickly cost him his anonymity. “‘Ey--look who it is! Long time no see, boss!” Dice frowned to see Mangosteen headed towards him, wearing a familiarly toothy grin. 

 

Mangosteen’s loud voice attracted the attention of the rest of the staff, who came quickly to form a circle around Dice. The excitement coming from his former employees was palpable, and Dice smiled in spite of himself. After a long month of feeling miserable and isolated, and his unnerving trek across the Isles, it was reassuring to have his old acquaintances to validate his existence.

 

“Thank--well, ya know,” Wheezy grinned, clapping Dice hard on the back. A sharp pain radiated from where the man’s hand had touched Dice’s back, and Dice doubled over.

 

“Sorry, boss--forgot for a sec. Them cups beat us all up good, eh? We’re just--we’re all glad to have ya back.” As if to accentuate his point, a puff of smoke rose from the top of Wheezy’s head. “Big man said ya’d be back, but it was gettin’ hard to believe.”

 

As he looked from face to familiar face, Dice’s sense of unease was beginning to fade, and his old confidence was returning to him. The Devil had been mad at him, of course, but now he was being accepted back with open arms. The Devil’s Casino  _ needed _ him. Of course this place would take him back.

 

Remembering his last conversation with Cuphead, Dice pushed aside a stabbing sense of guilt. It wasn’t like the kid didn’t know any better, right? Why would he trust a professional conman who had, just a few weeks ago, tried to kill him?

 

“Good to be back on your throne, eh?” Mangosteen broke the silence, staring down at Dice with cheery amber eyes. “Big boss’s gonna be pleased as punch to see ya, lemme tell ya that.”

 

In the heat of the moment, Dice had almost forgotten about the Devil. It seemed to him that the others, pleased as they were, might not know what had transpired between the two of them. 

 

“I just...wanna get some shut-eye, really,” Dice stammered. “Don’t look like business is doing so good tonight, innit? Nothin’ the boss’d be too interested in, huh? Prolly see him in the morning.” The yawn that escaped him was genuine--it was a far trek across the three isles from the Elder Kettle’s house to the Devil’s Casino, and everything was aching. He reached into his pocket and felt the tin of aspirin he had taken with him. A handful of those with a tumbler of scotch ought to do the trick; he hoped his favorite bottle was still waiting for him in his suite.

 

“‘Course, boss. Ya don’t look so good, anyway.” Wheezy’s expression was disappointed, as if he had expected this reunion to turn into a drinking session amongst old friends, but he stepped out of Dice’s way to clear a path across the floor. 

 

“Shut it down for the night,” Dice called over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs. “This night’s shot, anyways. We’ll have to get business up and going again, but that’s not happenin’ tonight.” 

 

⚀⚀

 

His suite was just as he remembered it. Dice smiled to himself as he poured himself a generous finger of scotch. His linens were imported Egyptian cotton, and after weeks of sleeping in the Elder Kettle’s spare bedroom, sinking into his own bed felt like pure bliss. He crossed his legs and leaned back against the headboard, relishing the burn of whiskey in his stomach.

 

The promise of an honest, simpler life had been attractive in the moment, he could give credit where it was due. But at the end of the day,  _ this _ was the life that he had worked hard to carve out for himself. Weakened as he was from his trek across the Inkwell Isles, the scotch was already starting to get to Dice’s head; he heaved a hearty sigh and watched the room spin warmly around him.

 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A familiar voice sounded suddenly, alerting Dice to the fact that he wasn’t alone. The Devil appeared at the foot of his bed, arching his back and grinning like a Cheshire cat at Dice before siding up to him, resting his head against Dice’s chest.

 

Out of habit, Dice reached his arm around the Devil’s head, stroking his furry black shoulder. It had long since become a habit of the Devil to cozy up to Dice when they were alone--Dice suspected that it had started as a way to toy with him, as he had initially been so aloof and standoffish, but with the passing years, it had become something else, something that felt like genuine affection. Dice buried his face in the Devil’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of tobacco and fire. Was it strange that the scent made him instantly feel at home?

 

“Lookit Dicey-boy! We’ll need to fix that gimp leg of yours.” The Devil’s tail flicked Dice’s knee.

 

Dice winced as the Devil’s tail struck his swollen leg. The dull pain brought him back somewhat from his sleepy, drunken state. “Y--boss,” he slurred. 

 

In response, the Devil slipped his chin under Dice’s hand and purred loudly. 

 

“Y--y’came to see me,” Dice murmured. “Yer...yer....yer... _ good-for-nothing lackey _ .” The words that Cuphead had told him came flooding back to him.

 

The Devil’s purring stopped, and he pushed himself to a sitting position, staring down his nose at the drunken Dice.

 

Dice groaned and rolled himself onto his side to reach for his glass of scotch. The tip of the Devil’s tail was poised against the side of the glass, and for a second it looked as if the Devil was about to knock it over.

 

Dice grasped the glass firmly in his hand and brought it quickly to his mouth; some of the amber liquid splashed onto his collarbone, but the majority of it burned a path over his tongue and into his stomach. “ _ Why?! _ ” he slurred, pouting at the cat-Devil. “If I’m so  _ good-fer-nothin’ _ ...”

 

The Devil’s face split into a cruel grin as he looked down at Dice. An ominous chill ran down Dice’s spine as he regarded the Devil’s expression. The Devil was clearly pleased with Dice’s insecurity and frustration, and Dice cursed himself for slipping up so quickly.

 

_ “You’re not coming back.” _ Cuphead’s sullen words echoed in Dice’s head.  _ “You _ are _ good for nothin’ but being the Devil’s lackey.” _

 

Oh no, he was really  _ drunk _ . Did someone put something sinister in his bottle of scotch when he was gone? Dice’s head was pounding, and bursts of bright red light in his vision forced him to close his eyes. 

 

The last thing he felt before he slipped into unconsciousness was the Devil, now having shape-shifted to become larger than him, wrapping himself around Dice’s body and nestling into him so they lay like spoons on the mattress. “Hush, Dice,” the Devil whispered into Dice’s ear. “You musn’t stress yourself so when you’re weak, dear.”

 

⚁⚁

 

He awoke with a sickening feeling in his stomach. The Devil was gone, leaving him alone in his suite; other than a few pieces of black lint on the pillow next to him, there was no trace of what had happened the night before. 

 

Dice closed his eyes and groaned. The Devil was toying with him, probably as a punishment for disappearing. The cuddly act was nothing new, but Dice couldn't shake the feeling that something especially sinister was brewing now. The worst part was not knowing  _ what.  _

 

A gentle knocking at the door roused Dice’s attention. He closed his eyes tighter, willing the unknown visitor to go away, but the knocking, soft but insistent, continued. Irked, Dice dragged himself out of bed. His shirt was lazily unbuttoned at the top, and his slacks were wrinkled from having slept in them; at the last minute he shoved his robe over his shoulders.  

 

It couldn't be the Devil, at least. The Devil would never have the courtesy to  _ knock.  _

 

It was Pirouletta, holding a tray of breakfast and coffee. The woman tilted her head as he opened the door, and the two of them stared wordlessly at each other. 

 

“I…” Dice began helplessly. The aroma wafting from the steaming mug of coffee was tantalizing. He practically lived off of coffee and cigarettes when he managed the casino, but he had since forgotten how wonderful the bitter smell was. Where would he have been in such a hurry to get to, lately, anyways? His palms tingled in anticipation of the caffeine rush.  

 

“So it’s true,” Pirouletta said quietly. “They said you had returned, but until I saw it with my own eyes, I did not believe that you had.”

 

After a moment of consideration, Dice gestured for her to join him in his suite. She set the breakfast tray on his table with a flourish, smiling graciously. 

 

“I heard you were still--ah--not so well,” she said delicately. It took Dice a moment to realize that she was explaining the reason for her presence. 

 

“Yeah, it wasn't pretty,” Dice grunted in response, reaching for the cup of coffee on the tray. A pleasingly warm, floral note was mixed with the familiar taste of the house brew.

“Cardamom?” Dice asked Pirouletta. 

 

Pirouletta nodded. “It is how I...like to drink,” she replied vaguely, though the pleased look that crossed her face was not lost on Dice. 

 

Dice took another sip of the coffee Pirouletta had brought him.  It was quite a kind act, really, especially since he had never been particularly close with her. 

 

“The Devil had been waiting for you to come back, you see,” Pirouletta said suddenly. She leaned in across the table towards Dice, smiling as if she were revealing a big secret. “He did not choose another manager. That is why business is so bad, I think. Nobody keeping track of everything. They like to slack off, when they think nobody watches.”

 

Dice smirked. He knew  _ that _ already. His snideness was quickly replaced with anger as he realized that he had been in the palm of the Devil’s hand all along. Even worse, he was apparently so predictable that everyone who worked at the casino had been anticipating his return as well. 

 

The past month that he had spent recuperating and keeping the cup boys company--what was that, then? Had his sense of optimism all been some kind of fleeting illusion, some sick illusion? Had he never been free from the Devil all along? 

 

“You look…” Pirouletta’s mouth puckered, and she stared at Dice with watchful eyes. “Troubled.”

 

Dice’s eyebrows furrowed. He would generally have been inclined to tell her off for getting into his business, but her unblinking stare was unnerving him a little. 

 

“The debtors…they’re pleased as punch to be free from the Devil,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could muster. “Guess I thought I might be, too.” The plate that Pirouletta had brought him had a rolled French omelet and a neat stack of buttered toast triangles. He reached for a slice of toast and took a bite of it, trying to ignore the way that the bread stuck to the roof of his dry mouth.

 

Pirouletta glanced around her, as if she were waiting for the Devil to appear behind Dice’s shoulder to punish Dice for expressing his desire for freedom. “You were not like them,” she stated bluntly. 

 

Unable to swallow his mouthful of toast, Dice glared at her while still chewing. She was right, Dice had never tried to worm his way out of working for the Devil. In fact, he had actively delighted in how important he had managed to make himself to the ruler of the Hell. 

 

“I will take my leave now, I think. You should relax, Mr. King,” Pirouletta said, apparently tired of Dice’s silence. She rose gracefully from her seat and rested her hand briefly on his shoulder. “We are excited for you to bring the life back to this place.” Taking a slight bow, she winked at Dice before twirling out of the room.

 

Dice was alone now, left with just himself and a cup of coffee. It was hard for him to recall the last time he had felt so alone. His loneliness was only slightly tempered by a sense of dread, knowing that the Devil could reappear at any moment, ready to delight further in how Dice was playing into his hand.

 

Vaguely, slicing into the corner of the omelet that Pirouletta had brought him, Dice wondered why he didn’t just  _ leave _ . It was hard for him to admit it to himself, but he knew the answer in his gut: the way that people  _ looked _ at him and whispered about the  _ fallen King, who finally got a taste of his own bitter medicine  _  when they thought he couldn’t hear, sickened him to his core. Maybe they were right--what of it? Why, then, would it make any sense to pretend otherwise? Although he was perpetually overworked, he was also quite well-off as the manager of the Devil’s Casino. He could push away the nagging feeling in his conscious that he wanted something  _ more, something different, something better, something else _ …

 

Maybe not without help, though. Groaning at the ache in his back as he stood up, Dice made his way to the liquor cabinet in search of something strong to wash down his breakfast.


	6. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We follow King Dice though his childhood and into the Devil's Casino.

King Dice was born Caleb Dice, to a family living in a tenement in the downtown district of Isle Three. The Dice family had four children, of which Caleb was the youngest. They owned a little corner store, where Caleb spent his days after school working the soda fountain. Caleb was the youngest and the smallest in his family, and couldn’t reach all of the syrup bottles and the glasses on the top shelf of the cabinet, but he was a natural at interacting with customers. The Dice family’s shop was always a favorite of the girls at Dice’s school, though he never much felt  an interest in any of them.

 

It was obvious that, of the four siblings, Caleb was the most talented. His older brother frequently snuck away from the shop to gamble at the penny slots at the casino across the train tracks. His sisters never had much of an interest in the family business. The children of the Dice family were all exceptionally attractive, and his sisters were married out of the family before long. By the time he finished primary school, Caleb was the only one of his siblings who still worked at the family shop, but he had a knack for running the place on his own. He could make change in his head, he was good at keeping the books, and he had a sixth sense for catching people trying to slip a candy bar into their pocket without paying.

 

When the Prohibition came, Caleb seized the opportunity to turn the soda fountain into an after-hours speakeasy. The tips were even better when booze was involved, and he made extra money entertaining patrons with his own renditions of jazz songs he heard on the radio. His father voiced his disapproval at Caleb’s new venture, but the department store that moved in downtown was cutting deep into their profits, and it was Caleb’s underhanded business that was keeping the roof over their heads.

 

Caleb adored his after-hours job running the speakeasy. He loved the attention that everyone showered on him when he was putting on a show in between the magazine aisle and the shelves of canned goods. He learned how to pour cocktails with fancy layers and sprigs of mint garnishing the rims of the glasses. He liked how the girls whispered about him, giggling and averting their eyes as he walked down the street. His father had a pyramid-shaped die head, but his mother was a black wooden chess Queen; it got back to Caleb that it was a topic of intense discussion what sort of children he himself would father. Despite its location under the rundown tenements of Isle Three, the Dice family’s speakeasy became the most popular place in town for a drink, making Caleb a minor celebrity. It was during these smoky, booze-fueled nights that Caleb was given the nickname of ‘King’.

 

It suited him, he thought: his mother was a queen, after all, and the shop was going to be his someday. He had long since grown to overshadow his father. Caleb was the undisputed King Dice, indeed.

 

Life was exciting and wonderful for Caleb until one night, everything fell apart. The night that change his life started like any other: it was a balmy night in May of 1922, and he was tipsy with scotch and leaned over the counter, chatting with Porkrind, the son of the manager of a chain of emporiums. Customers flitted through the store, sipping on drinks and enjoying the crackly jazz music coming from Caleb’s own radio. Porkrind was much taller and huskier than Caleb, and sometimes Caleb would rest his head against Porkrind’s chest when he was drunk, because he liked the rough feeling of the boy’s chest against his smooth cheek.

 

Cherry-and-blue lights interrupted what had been a lively conversation between him and Porkrind. There was a loud _bang_ as the door flew open, and blinding flashlight beams lit up the air. There was a great deal of drunken commotion as patrons began to scatter in every direction, spilling liquor all over each other and the tiled floors. A little too inebriated to comprehend the situation at hand, Caleb started to panic, and reached out to grab a handful of Porkrind’s shirtsleeve.

 

“Porky, hel’...” Caleb whined as the pig stood up and dragged him halfway over the counter.

 

Caleb never forgot the look on the other boy’s eyes as he wrenched Caleb’s arms off of his sleeve, and flung him back behind the counter. Caleb shuddered helplessly as he watched his friend walk away, leaving him at the mercy of the police.

 

♛♚

 

The fines they slapped on him for operating an illegal bar cleaned Caleb out of the lifetime of tips he had saved. Worse, the trouble that followed the Dice family’s business after the police were there that night, clearing out the shop with flashlights and loud voices and batons in hand, put a permanent strain on Caleb’s relationship with his family. His father watched him now whenever he was at work, and the silent hostility threw Caleb off of his game. His tips had never been worse, and he had never had a botched egg cream thrown into his face by a disgruntled customer who had been served chocolate instead of their desired vanilla. Work had never felt like a chore for Caleb until he suddenly found himself under careful scrutiny by his father, and the talk of the town as the people whispered about the _little Dice boy who paid the price for operating a speakeasy without permission_. Caleb was young, and hadn’t understood what made his father so hesitant to sell alcohol after the store closed for the night: although it was illegal everywhere, there were certain people on the Inkwell Isles that were protected from the law because they were aligned with something even more powerful than the police.

 

So it was power, or a lack thereof, that precipitated Caleb's downfall. He had been expecting to inherit the family business, and his empire suddenly collapsed overnight. Luckily for Caleb, he still had all of his skills as bartender and a soda jerk. He was sure that the carnival on Isle Two would take him in with open arms--he tried their sodas before, and had always been disappointed; the syrup was always lying on the bottom of the glass and the soda water on top had barely any flavor to it. Most of the carnies lived on Isle One, where living was slower and cheaper. Caleb had grown accustomed to his fast-paced life on Isle Three, and hated the idea of slowing down and living out in the sticks, so he promised himself that he would find something else.

 

The easiest solution would be to marry rich--he was surely not short on suitors, even now that his business had gone kaput. Lady Bon Bon of Isle Two had a daughter about his age, a tall girl with plump pink lips and ringlets fit for a china doll, who was a frequent visitor and heavy tipper at Caleb's establishment. He knew that, objectively, she was a catch, but he couldn’t escape the way his skin crawled when she smiled at him and brushed her hand against his thigh.

 

It wasn’t just Lady Bon Bon’s daughter, either--it was all of the women who chased after him. He knew that he was supposed to be flattered at the attention, but he was never fond of it, just like the centerfolds in magazines never roused any secret desires in him. In the end, he knew that he could never be with a woman, even if it meant securing a comfortable life for himself. He considered spending the last of his savings on a ticket to the mainland, but he knew nobody outside of the Inkwell Isles, and he also knew that the big city would be difficult to navigate if he was broke and friendless, even if he did have his looks and his charms. As he watched his father’s customers dwindle even further, and watched the old man wring his hands and grit his teeth as he scraped pennies from the cash register, Caleb vowed to himself that he would never allow himself to be so helpless.

 

No, there was an easier solution than leaving the Inkwell Isles, and one less painful than taking up with a woman. The Devil’s Casino had always been on the other side of the train tracks, beckoning Inkwell’s most desperate, including Caleb’s oldest brother, who had long disappeared after being kicked out of the family home for stealing money from the register to pay his gambling debts. Caleb had heard plenty of things about the Devil's Casino--that the drinks were bad, the dice were loaded, and that every dealer always had an ace up his sleeve. Caleb had watched his own family throw their lives away gambling at that place.

 

Caleb, though, was not as naive and foolhardy as his brother. _He_ understood mathematics; he knew that penny slots were a bad bet, and that the expected outcome of a night at the roulette table was a net loss. The Devil’s Casino was sleazy, Caleb knew, but unlike his brother, he could play that game. Caleb had heard rumors that it was the Devil’s Casino that sold him out to the police, because the success of his little speakeasy, where customers played games with cards and dice amongst themselves over plentiful booze, was cutting into their profits. With his talents in singing and bartending and bookkeeping, he was confident that he could land himself a job there. Why, they might already have heard his name. It wouldn’t surprise him; everyone seemed to know now about the young King Dice.

 

This was how King Dice found his way to the Devil’s Casino.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet this time? I hope you guys like Dice's story and where this is all going so far--I know I'm pretty slow at plots -W- I wanted to give as many dimensions to Dice as possible, he's open to a lot of interpretations and it's fun to give him a story and personality ^^ The name Caleb Dice was borrowed from Sand_wolf579's story which is totally awesome!
> 
> Hope you're enjoying so far! Please let me know what you think :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More backstory! It's a bit challenging to slide back and forth between the past and present, so if anyone has any writing tips I always love to hear them >.<
> 
> Aaaaand a little bit of casino family fluff because I love them.

The casino workers were like Dice’s second family. Like his blood family, they were a little bit scared of him, and knew that he thought himself to be too good for them. Unlike his blood family, at least they knew how to have a good time. 

 

“Family dinner in the VIP lounge tonight, boss! Mango’s makin’ spaghetti.” Chips grinned widely at Dice as he descended the stairs from his suite to the casino floor. As sorry as he felt for himself, Dice had never been good at moping alone. By the time the sky began to turn dusky shades of pink and indigo, Dice had had enough of grappling with his situation in the solitude of his room. 

 

Dice folded his arms. “Better not be planning me a damn homecoming ‘stead of working,” he said gruffly. He was secretly pleased at the fuss that his staff was making over his return. Besides, Mangosteen did have a great secret recipe for marinara. 

 

“Daaaaammit, partner,” Chips drawled good-naturedly. “You saying we ain't allowed to miss ya? We were  _ worried _ ‘bout cha, ya know.” The younger man wrapped his hand around Dice’s shoulders and guided him towards the lounges in the back of the casino.

 

In spite of himself, Dice smiled. Chips wasn't always the hardest worker, but at least he was enthusiastic. “All right, but we better have a full crew on the floor during peak hours, clear?”

 

“Crystal,” Chips responded cheerily, following Dice’s lead into the back. 

 

“If it ain’t the King himself! Nice of you to join us.” Mangosteen gestured to the seat at the head of the table, which was waiting with a plate loaded up with steaming pasta.

 

Dice took his seat, self-conscious of the fact that all eyes were on him. Although he had seen a handful of them last night, this was his first time seeing a lot of these faces since...well, since had ordered them to go after the cup kids on that fateful day. He braced himself for resentment and hostility, but the faces looking back at him were kind and eager.

 

“Aww, no hard feelings about the little mugs, boss,” Chips said suddenly. “Been a long time since I had such a fun scrap. It’s ‘cause of you that we’re all livin’ as well as we do anyways.” A soft murmur of concurrence rippled around the table after Chips was done speaking.

 

“The Devil lost all of his contracts,” Dice responded darkly. “Does  _ workin’ for the Devil _ mean nothing to the rest of ya?”

 

“Wasn't ever ‘bout that for the rest of us,” Chips said offhandedly. “There's more reasons to want to work in a casino than to sign away people's fates for all eternity.” He grinned slyly. “The way you act sometimes, you'd forget folks come here to have a good time.”

 

Dice gritted his teeth. Chips had a point, he  _ did _ tend to take his job pretty seriously, but they worked for the Devil, after all. 

 

Or, at least... _ he _ did. As he glanced around the table at the faces of his staff, he realized that the rest of them worked for  _ him _ . A surge of excitement reached him, reminiscent of the way he had felt when he had been running his speakeasy as a youth. He had been so wrapped up in his role as the Devil’s man that it was easy to forget that, even outside of being good at putting away people's souls, he was also pretty outstanding at managing the casino. His staff could be a bit half-baked at times, but they had shown themselves to be willing to fight and possibly die for him. Life at the casino wasn't all bad.

 

Mr. Wheezy’s startling loud, raspy laugh rattled Dice out of his thoughts. The others were laughing at Hocus Pocus, the white rabbit magician, who had somehow managed to spill spaghetti sauce onto his shiny white coat. For a group that had recently, quite literally, been dragged to Hell and back, they seemed as jovial as ever, enjoying a meal with their closest friends while taking a break from their busy work schedules. Dice was often too busy dealing with the Devil to join them when they hung out together, but as he watched them now, it was beginning to dawn on him just what he had been missing out on for all these years. 

 

Pirouletta caught Dice’s eye, and smiled gently at him. “Dinner’s getting cold, Mr. Dice,” she prompted him kindly. “Wouldn't you like to come join us?”

 

♚♚♚

 

After the night that he introduced himself to the Devil, the Devil began to take an interest in Caleb Dice, his hotshot new card dealer. It was hard to  _ not  _ pay attention to him; the kid was a natural showman with a smile like a million bucks. 

 

But oh, did the boy have a nose for  _ trouble.  _ He was the biggest cheat the Devil had ever seen, and just a little too smug to get away with it. Caleb was slick, the Devil had to hand that to him; he knew that Caleb’s luck couldn't be  _ that _ good, but he had never once caught him cheating. It was Caleb’s self-satisfied laugh as he won round after round, stacking his winnings conspicuously on the table, made him so... _ punchable.  _ Worst of all, the kid’s confidence grew by the day as he continued to win and cheat and charm his way through the casino, strutting about like he owned the place. 

 

The Devil thought Caleb would back down after the first time he had his head smashed to smithereens for his attitude in the Casino. He remembered standing by, leaned against the wall as he watched Caleb get pounded into a pulp. 

 

“‘S enough,” one of Caleb’s assailants slurred after a while, grabbing onto his friend’s shirtsleeve. “We can't  _ kill _ ‘im. Tha’s more trouble than ‘e’s worth.” The two men staggered away, leaving Caleb gasping for air on the ground. 

 

As the men disappeared, the Devil trotted towards Caleb and knelt down by his side. His purple bow tie had been torn off roughly and lay tattered on the ground a few feet away, and his white dress shirt was spattered with blood. 

 

“You're not so tough without a card up your sleeve,” the Devil sneered. “Pretty pathetic for a table bully.” 

 

Caleb sputtered and struggled for air. A giant fracture ran straight down his face. “H--help,” he choked out, grasping at the Devil’s hand. The Devil saw genuine fear in Caleb’s eyes. “P--please.”

 

The Devil stared down at him with unblinking yellow eyes. If he didn't get this kid help, and soon, it was likely that he would have a dead body on his hands. 

 

It’d be a shame, though. Rarely were people as  _ interesting  _ as Caleb Dice. The Devil looked down to see that Caleb had fallen unconscious, his chest rising and falling with desperate, shallow breaths. 

 

_ Snap!  _ An imp appeared in a puff of smoke at the Devil’s command. The Devil gestured at Caleb. “Clean him up and take him inside,” he ordered.

 

The imp bowed. “As you wish, sir.”

 

The Devil’s face crinkled sternly. “Don't let this one die on me. That's an order, now.”

 

☙

 

He let Caleb rest up a little; the staff of the casino staff always took care of their own. After a few days, the Devil decided it was time to pay his patient a visit. He invited himself into Caleb’s suite to find the dice-headed man sitting on his neatly-made bed and sipping a bottle of cola.

 

“Boss!” Caleb jumped to his feet and dropped into a bow the moment the Devil appeared in his sights. 

 

“You’re looking better,” the Devil remarked. Flicking Caleb’s soda bottle with his tail, he added nonchalantly, “ya didn’t strike me as the type to have a sweet tooth.”

 

“Since I was a kid,” Caleb said. 

 

The Devil sidled up to Caleb, relishing how Caleb shuddered at the touch of his dark-furred head against his shoulder. “I saved your life, ya know,” he sneered, purring as he rubbed his face against Caleb’s sleeve. 

 

Caleb’s focus was straight ahead. “Thanks,” he said coolly.

 

“Ha!” The Devil laughed and nuzzled Caleb’s chest with his cheek. In contrast to the kid’s white, plastic head, his chest was soft and warm. “You owe your life to the Devil, boy. Can’t bluff your way outta this one.”

 

Caleb scooted away from the Devil and regarded him with an intensely curious expression on his face. “Whaddya want from me, then?” he inquired. “If it was my soul, you woulda let me bleed out, and then take your reward.”

 

The Devil hissed irritably.  _ Point Dice _ , he thought to himself. Caleb was right--if all he wanted was the kid’s soul for himself, he didn’t have to save his life; Caleb was undoubtedly bound for Hell without the Devil needing to intervene. 

 

What  _ did _ he want from Caleb, anyways? What was it about him that fascinated the Devil so? The Devil crossed his arms and glared. Did he really just save this guy’s life to see more of him?

 

The Devil had seen millions of lives flit in and out of existence. There was no excuse for putting himself out there for this little punk.

 

“You’re not so good at holding your own in a scrap,” the Devil said mockingly, in an attempt to put Caleb back in the hot seat.

 

Reflexively, Caleb’s hand shot over to grip his broken wrist. His expression was one of genuine hurt--there it was, the kid had a weakness after all. The Devil pounced.

 

“Pretty boy never learned how to fight,” the Devil mused, carefully watching Caleb’s guarded expression. “But I can offer ya some assistance with that.” 

 

Caleb’s green eyes narrowed. “Come again?” he asked.

 

The Devil wrapped his arm around Caleb’s shoulder. “You’re not a brawler,” he mused, sizing up Caleb’s slight figure. “But you’ve got some brains in ya--I reckon you might have a way with magic, if you wanted to.”

 

There was no denying it now, the Devil’s offer had left Caleb with a hungry expression on his face. “Golly,” the boy breathed. 

 

The Devil grinned widely. “Not for free, of course,” he reminded Caleb. From the look in Caleb’s green eyes, he knew he was close to sealing the deal. 

 

“‘Course,” Caleb replied. “But, to get ahead of it--I wanna keep my soul, boss. That one ain't on the table.”

 

The Devil frowned, frustrated with the obstinate resolution on the young man’s face. “Ya know yer bound for Hell, son,” he reminded Caleb with a growl. “It's just a matter of time ‘fore your soul belongs to me.”

 

“But it's  _ mine _ now,” Caleb countered. “All due respects, boss, but I ain’t nobody’s pawn. I still got my own life to live.” The Devil watched curiously as Caleb leaned closer, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Whatever you give me, I’ll use in service to  _ you _ , boss. I can promise ya that. You don’t gotta take my soul to know I’ll put it all on the line for ya.”

 

The Devil’s head tilted. “And what’s stopping you from double-crossing me, ya little sneak?” 

 

Caleb smiled broadly. “I’m a loyal man, sir--you’ll see soon enough. And ya saved my life.” The boy rubbed his bandaged wrist. “I ain’t forgettin’ that anytime soon.”

 

True to his word, Caleb Dice would become the most loyal servant that the Devil had ever known. Whether he was goading drunken gamblers into betting on the outcomes of loaded dice; or watching the movements of the town from the back alleys, prowling for those naive enough to make a deal with the Devil; or renovating the Casino from a poorly-lit and sketchy place that drew the wretched like moths to a flame, into a glitzy attraction lit with neon and packed with attractions like shows and fine dining, Dice never failed to surprise and impress the Devil. The Devil had heard about the young ‘King’ Dice who ran the family speakeasy out in a rundown neighborhood of Isle Three before Caleb came to work in the casino, and the Devil remembered having a good laugh to himself at the arrogance of this ‘King’. When he started hearing the name ‘King Dice’ around his Casino, though, he had to admit to himself that Caleb was indeed worthy of such a title.

 

One thing would always bother the Devil, though, which was that Caleb refused to hand over his soul. All the gold in the casino, to Caleb, wasn’t worth the price of his soul; the King stubbornly kept his soul off the table. The Devil would taunt him: ‘ _ you know that salvation won’t be possible for a sinner like you, _ ’ he’d sneer after Caleb shot him down for the umpteenth time.

 

“All due respect, but it’s my soul, boss,” Caleb would reply, showing the Devil a smug, proud grin. 

 

In retrospect, the Devil thought, maybe Caleb had known something that he refused to admit to himself: that he was  _ special _ . He was talented, sure, but he was special because the Devil had a soft spot in his heart for him, and that gave him a unique power over the Devil. It was a power that the Devil had unwittingly given to him, and one that he could neither comprehend nor reclaim.

 

The Devil loved Caleb Dice, his smarmy and clever King. He loved having him by his side as he roamed the casino, and he loved the glee in Caleb’s voice as they would whisper and bet about who would be willing to sell them their soul. He loved the neatly-pressed clothes that he pretended to hate, always in Caleb’s favorite shades of purple, and he loved curling up against Caleb’s body to feel the warmth coming from Caleb’s skin underneath them. More than once, a night ended with the Devil cuddled up in Dice’s lap, longing for more, but Caleb would always pull away. The Devil might be the mythical being in their partnership, but Caleb held the power.

 

Caleb ‘King’ Dice would be the Devil’s undoing. The Devil had never understood the concept of having a heart, and unknowingly, he had given his to Caleb Dice.

 

Dice knew this, and he understood better than the Devil the kind of power that love could give. He kept his heart guarded, and he kept it for himself. 

 

At least he thought that he did.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Hell has rules. 
> 
> Also Dice is as Done with his job as I am with mine this week >.<

The Inkwell Devil wasn't the  _ only  _ devil in Hell. He had ruled over the Inkwell Isles for thousands of years, and because the Inkwell Isles were an isolated, tiny piece of the world, so was his kingdom of Hell. 

 

He was a bit of an oddball amongst devils. Rarely did demons become as involved in overworld affairs as the Inkwell Devil had. 

 

He hadn't always been so involved with life in the Overworld. The other devils liked to whisper amongst themselves that the reason the Inkwell Devil had become so attached to the overworld was because he had fallen in love with a mortal, which was heavily frowned upon in Hell. It wasn't forbidden, but they knew it was futile. Once a mortal died, their consciousness was gone forever. The energy that had once animated them and made them  _ themselves _ was returned to the universe. 

 

This was the fate of all mortals: ashes to ashes, dust to dust. It was the fate that awaited Caleb Dice. 

 

It was also the fate that awaited devils, although they had more control over the matter. Although their lifespan was initially finite, they could expand their lifespan indefinitely by consuming the souls of mortals. Eventually, all devils would decide to end their journey, and their own souls would be returned to the universe. Nobody really wants to live forever: infinity is exhausting. 

 

When the Inkwell Devil lost his soul contracts, he knew that his lifespan had been shortened considerably. He was still young, though, for a demon; he had a millennia at least before the end of his natural life. There was plenty of time for him to gain new souls. 

 

The Inkwell Devil knew what the other devils said about him and Dice, but he elected to ignore them. He just let Dice do his grunt work, he would justify to himself. Who in their right mind would turn away such a dutiful lackey?

 

⛤⛤⛤

 

Dice was avoiding him, the Devil was sure of it. He was so used to Dice popping in unannounced at the least convenient times, appearing with contracts to be signed or updated from the casino floor. He was also used to popping in unannounced on Dice, curling up in a cat-form with him as he tucked himself in for the night, or teleporting to his side while Dice was in his office and demanding for Dice to light his cigar for him. 

 

Dice hadn't come knocking, with soul contracts or otherwise, since he returned to the Devil’s Casino. He also was seldom alone. At nights Dice would bring Pirouletta or Chips or Mangosteen or Wheezy up to his suite for a nightcap or cup of tea before turning in. The Devil was equally annoyed and hurt that Dice was spending so little of his time alone, and yet he hadn't come to visit him. 

 

Things were upside-down. Dice rarely deigned to spend time with his staff, being too busy chasing after the Devil. Now the Devil couldn't get close to Dice, who was too busy hanging out with the casino employees. 

 

Business was steadily returning, but Dice had yet to strike a soul contract. He flitted around on the floor and sometimes dealt high-stakes poker games and schmoozed with the high rollers. By all accounts, he was doing a swell job managing the casino, he was just avoiding the Devil. 

 

It took weeks for the Devil to finally catch Dice alone. During a mid-day lull, Dice brought a tall glass full of vanilla ice cream back to his suite, and started to fix himself a root beer float. Maybe Dice was finally starting to get too cocky that the Devil would leave him alone.

 

The Devil appeared in Dice’s suite in a puff of smoke. Dice, who was carefully skimming the root beer-ice cream foam off the top of his glass, looked up at the sudden commotion. His face froze as his eyes met the Devil’s.

 

“You’ll ruin your figure if you eat like that all the time,” the Devil smirked, making his way to Dice’s table and resting his chin against the tabletop. He always loved making fun of Dice’s sweet tooth. Unlike mortals, the Devil did not require food to sustain him, so he didn’t understand the appeal of eating in general. Even he knew, though, that Dice’s proclivity for sweets was a childish quirk of his.

 

Dice, who was carefully pouring soda over a spoon, tilted his head. “Might be a nice change of pace, then.”

 

The Devil pouted emphatically. “You’re no fun.”

 

Dice’s head was rested in his palm. “Didn’t realize that was part of the job now.”

 

“So what’s your game here?”

 

“ _ Game _ !? I’m tired, ya know? I ain’t gonna have it in me to keep gettin’ whaled on forever.” Dice rolled his eyes and took a sip of his soda. “Call me crazy, but I don’t think managing a damn casino’s s’posed to be such a freakin’ occupational hazard.”

 

“I gave you--you know why I picked you to be the manager, Dice?” the Devil demanded irritably.

 

Dice idly twirled his soda cap on the table. “‘Cause I’m damn good at it,” he responded smoothly.

 

“Because you  _ promised _ me your  _ service _ in exchange for powers!”

 

“All right, fine! Ya got me.” Dice bared his teeth, and the Devil smiled, glad to see a flash of the old Dice again. “What d’ya want me to say--that I was a fool? Arrogant? Dammit, I  _ know _ that. I’m done with the souls, boss.”   
  


The tip of the Devil’s tail twitched. “Since when did  _ you _ care about the value of a soul?”

 

“Since comin’ to terms with the fact that I  _ have _ one,” Dice grumbled. “You--you don’t give a damn ‘bout what happens here, do ya? It’s all just...a bit fascinatin’ to ya? But me,  _ this _ is all I’m gonna get. It ain’t  _ us _ against the world, it’s  _ you _ \--just you. I’m a part of it, just like everyone else. And I don’t intend to keep livin’ in this goddamn limbo, pretendin’ that my life is worth more if I’m livin’ it for you.”

 

“You knew whatcha were getting into when you signed up!”

 

“Did I? I was twenty-five, boss.” Dice’s brow furrowed, and he clarified, “ _ Young.  _ I know our ages don’t mean nothin’ to ya.” His words were met with a hostile silence, and after a moment, he continued. “I had  _ dreams _ for my life, boss.”

 

“I gave you”--

 

“What  _ really _ , though? A job? Some little tricks? I don’t get paid  _ nearly _ ‘nough to do what I did for ya, and you damn well know that.” Dice stirred his melting soda carefully. “I had  _ things _ that I wanted to do, ‘sides managing your damn casino. I--I woulda liked to raise a kid or two, I”--

 

“ _ Family! _ Ha.” The Devil sneered. “You disappoint me, Dice. In the end, you’re just”--

 

“ _ A person _ .” Dice’s lip curled. “Don’t expect to understand. I don’t got all the time in the world, and I don’t wanna spend it all bein’ your  _ good-for-nothing lackey _ .” He spat the words out with a vitriol that even startled the Devil.

 

The Devil crossed his arms. “You love the casino,” he challenged. “You wouldn’t really leave.”

 

Dice smirked. “It wasn’t  _ running the casino _ that was the problem, boss,” he chided. 

 

The Devil bared his teeth. “You little fink--I oughta”--

 

“Kill me?” Dice challenged. He leaned back in his chair and finished off the last of his melting ice cream soda. “Do it.” 

 

The Devil glared at him through giant amber eyes. He knew as well as Dice that he couldn’t bear to kill him.

 

“Thought so,” Dice responded, apparently satisfied. He set his empty glass on the table with a loud  _ thunk _ and headed towards the door. Desperately, the Devil teleported to block his path. Dice’s body was close enough to brush the tips of his fur; the Devil could the smell root beer and cigarettes on Dice’s breath, and the scent of Dice’s favorite cologne on his tuxedo. 

 

“Lemme get back to work,” Dice said. The Devil stared down at the man, seething in frustration. He hated how much power the little jerk had over him. He hated even more how much he wanted the old King Dice back. 

 

Dice had always been good at calling a bluff. His bright green eyes narrowed as he reached past the Devil’s body and grasped the doorknob. The Devil stood motionless as Dice skirted past him, leaving the Devil in a root beer-cigarette-cologne haze, staring at the spot where Dice had stood before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some headcanons: Hell is a bit like the shinigami realm in Death Note, and eternal damnation is not a thing. Everyone's life force gets returned to the universe eventually. 
> 
> Every time I look at my story summary I wince because the Devil has not /offered Dice anything/ yet, and we're freaking eight chapters in >w< Oh, will he ever, though. Hopefully it'll be worth the wait!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dice leaves the Devil with no choice but to make him a better deal.

Rumors about life on the surface travel quickly in Hell. Humans move rapidly through life, constantly spurned by the passage of time and their own mortality; demons, lacking the same restrictions, progress through their own affairs at much slower a pace.

 

The news that the Inkwell Devil’s right-hand man had forsaken his role as the Devil’s trusted soul collector spread like wildfire through the underworld. Not only was the dice-headed lackey no longer collecting souls for the Inkwell Devil, he was continuing to profit from the Devil’s Casino. Rumors began to spread in the overworld, too, that one who entered the Devil’s Casino no longer ran the risk of losing their soul. The Devil’s Casino was even busier, and the house--especially King Dice--was combing in even more gold, than ever before.

 

 _-Mortals can’t be permitted to exploit a demon,_ the demons whispered behind the Inkwell Devil’s back. _It’s unprecedented, unheard of. They must be punished for his insolence.-_

 

_-The Inkwell Devil needs to teach him a lesson.-_

 

_-He won’t, though.-_

 

_-You don’t think it’s because…?-_

 

_-He loves him? Time will tell, that much is for certain. Those affairs never end well, let’s hope he isn’t so stupid.-_

 

_-That dice boy...-_

 

_-King Dice, yeah.-_

 

 _-You don’t think_ he _loves_ him _, though, do ya? The mortal always gets it worse, falling in love with a demon like that.-_

 

_-Let’s hope not. It would be oh-so-troublesome.-_

 

For years, the Inkwell Devil had ignored the whisperings of the other demons regarding his casino, and especially about his casino manager. He had been more than content with going between the Inkwell overworld and underworld as he pleased, which allowed him to reap the best of both worlds--the stimulation of a fast-paced life above, and promise of an infinite life below.

 

It became harder to ignore the demons after his soul contracts were burned. _That’s what you get for trying to deal with mortals, instead of taking what you need,_ they said.

 

_-That’s what you get for trusting these kind of things to a mortal. They couldn’t possibly comprehend the value of a soul to a demon.-_

 

_-You talkin’ bout that Caleb Dice figure?-_

 

_-You betcha.-_

 

The Inkwell Devil knew he had to do something about Dice. Not only was he losing face in Hell, but he had been relying on Dice to bring in the soul contracts that gave him life. If Dice wouldn’t come to him willingly anymore, well, then the Devil would demand it. Dice had spat in his face over the soul contracts during their last exchange, but so long as he intended to manage the casino, he still worked for the Devil.

 

♥♠♦♣

 

The Devil arranged for Dice to come to his office for a meeting at noon on a Monday, and sat at his throne expectantly as the hour approached. He twirled his pitchfork as he rehearsed in his head the pitch he was planning to give Dice.  

 

Dice arrived at the Devil’s office promptly on time, not a minute early nor a minute late. He bowed before the Devil, as was the custom, but the Devil thought he saw a glint of impudence in his employee’s green eyes as he raised his head from his bow.

 

“Long time, no see, Dice! Can I get you something? I’m sure I there’s a bottle of pop somewhere...I know you’re so fond.”

 

“Quite alright, boss,” Dice said coolly. “It’s been busy today, and there’s lots of money flowing at the tables--I’m in a bit of a hurry, if you don’t mind--”

 

“I do!” The Devil banged his pitchfork against the marble-tiled floor; the noise echoed loudly through the spacious room and made Dice jump. “Seems you’ve been forgetting who works for who lately. Don’t make me teach you the hard way, Dicey.”

 

The Devil’s pulse quickened as Dice’s eyes narrowed, and the dark expression on the man’s face became reminiscent of the King Dice he had spent the past few months longing to see again.

 

“That’s better,” the Devil sneered.

 

Dice’s hand curled into a fist under his white silk glove, but he remained silent as he stared boldly at the Devil.

 

“You're a businessman, Dice. I'll make a deal with ya.” Seeing Dice’s mouth open to argue, the Devil hastily amended, “Not your soul. Listen first, will ya?”

 

Dice glared, but closed his mouth.

 

“I live on borrowed time, you know that? The souls feed my life force. It can go on forever, if I want it to. Didja know that?”

 

Dice quirked an eyebrow. “I didn't.”

 

“Explains your absolute bungling of the soul contracts. That aside, you’re a good little soldier. You go back to doin’ your job-- _the real one_ \--and I’ll cut you in.”

 

“Come again?” Dice’s hands were clasped together on the table, and his poker face was perfect, but the Devil noticed the way that Dice’s breath had caught in his chest.

 

“I'll do ya fifty-fifty, Dicey. Didn’t expect that from mean ol’ me, didja now?” The Devil leaned in, baring his teeth in a maniacal grin. “We can be partners, Dice. Join me.”

 

Dice frowned cautiously. “There's a catch, ‘course,” he muttered, half to himself.

 

“Why, just that you'll be tied to me!” The Devil exclaimed. “I’m going out on a limb for you, you can surely see that! If you try to welch out on this one”--the Devil clenched his clawed fist--”then i'll be the one seein’ to it that you pay.”

 

The Devil was confident that he had Dice on the hook. He wrapped his arm around Dice’s shoulder, inhaling lackey’s familiar tobacco-vanilla-musk smell. “Come join me,” the Devil said silkily.

 

Dice stiffened as the Devil purred and stroked his shoulder. The Devil’s smile widened into a Cheshire cat-like grimace. “You don't understand yet, but I can see it now! Oh, what a beautiful thing you could make out of an eternity with me.”

 

“And if I don't?” Dice asked. To the Devil’s dismay, he hadn't yet managed to break Dice’s composure. The King Dice he remembered, the sharp-tongued floor boss, would have leaped clear out of his seat at the promise of eternal life.

 

The Devil growled impatiently. Drawn-out negotiations were more Dice’s forte than his own; there was a reason he had given Dice the power to sign soul contracts in his stead, since negotiations could often get lengthy and intense. “This ain't the kinda deal you walk away from, Dicey.”

 

Dice’s green eyes narrowed. “I don't sign nothin’ without knowin’ my options. All due respect, but don’t take me for a chump, boss.”

 

“If yer that much of a fool? Then yer not welcome here. You value your damn mortal world so much, then I’ll _drive you out_ , and ya best believe you'll never set foot again in my casino. I’m done with the friggin’ games, Dice.

 

I don't take ya for a fool, boy. And only a fool would walk away from this deal.”

 

♚⚄

 

Dice stunned the Devil by walking out of his office without making a decision. The Devil was so startled by the sound of his lackey’s shoes on the tile floor, and then the dull and finite slam of his office door, that his pitchfork slipped from his grasp and landed on the ground.

 

A nearby imp screeched in fright at the noise, making the Devil snarl with annoyance. Were his trident still in his grasp, the Devil would have destroyed the imp in a puff of smoke just like _that_.

 

There was a time when King Dice would have accepted anything that the Devil had to offer him, without question. When he was younger, especially, and the exact nature of the Devil was still a mystery to him, Dice had been like putty in the devil’s claws:

 

 _“Y’know...you_ mighta _met my brother, sometime? He used to come here all the time, sneak away when our pa wasn’t lookin’. Taught me everythin’ I know jus’ so he could leave me ‘lone in the shop.” The Devil and Dice were sitting in the smoking lounge of the casino one night, about a year and a half after Dice began working at the casino. He had been recently promoted to manager at that_ point, _and was beginning to let his guard down around the Devil. The Devil noted with fascination that, on rare occasions, Dice was beginning to drink in his company, and with those drinks--usually scotch on the rocks, the Devil noticed--came stories from Dice’s past. Tonight, it seemed, was one such occasion._

_“Hard to remember,” the Devil said with a smile._

_A lot of Dice’s tipsy ramblings centered around his family; from what the Devil understood, Dice had been living with his parents until he left them to work at the casino. The Devil didn’t understand the preoccupation that so many humans had with family, but he did like to listen to Dice talk. The young man liked to boast about how he had been his father’s favorite (“Pa used to tell Jonah--my big brother, yeah ?--that he’d be workin’ for me ,_ _if he wasn’ more careful with spendin’ his own coin at the slots,” Dice had told the Devil once, flashing a charming and drunken grin); how his mother was from a wealthy family that owned the Inkwell Two carnival; how his father, then a working-class stable boy, had won her over with his charm and good looks (“Runs in the family,” Dice had told the Devil with a sly wink)._

_Caleb Dice, as the Devil was learning, was still quite young for a man. The Devil had very little understanding of the mortal concept of aging, seeing as it happened so quickly from his own perspective--one moment they were little and playing in the mud, and they were nearly at the end of their lives in the next._

_“He look_ _much like you?” the Devil prompted. Caleb was resting his head in the crook of his arm, and his face looked flushed and sleepy._

_“Mmnngh,” Dice mumbled. “Li’l_. _Shorter, though? And”--he flexed the arm that wasn’t supporting his head--”stronger, too.”_

_“Runt of the family, huh,” the Devil teased, beckoning a skeleton waiter to bring him two glasses of water._

_“Jus’ the skinny one.” Dice’s chest puffed out proudly. "Got all the brains, though."_

_“Know what happened to him?”_

_Dice shrugged emphatically, then let his shoulders fall and his head flop onto the table. “He stole money from the shop, an’_ pa _kicked ‘im out,” he said. “Iunno. Prolly didn’ do much after that.” He turned to the Devil with an expression of intense curiosity. “_ Do _you know_ _? You_ mus _’ know who lives and who dies, right?”_

_Actually, he didn’t, but he didn’t want Dice to know that. For all Dice knew, the Devil was_   _the_ only _Devil, and Dice treated him like a god. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” the Devil responded cryptically._

_Dice’s expression was indignant. “Jonah was kinda…kinda dumb,” he groaned. “Never worked hard a day in his life_. _I just...I wonder sometimes. I wonder if he’s gone .”_

_The young man’s soliloquy was interrupted by a waiter, who brought them water. The Devil nudged a glass towards Dice, who looked from the glass to the Devil and back to the glass, and knocked back a quick swallow._

_Dice had always been good at reading others, but not so good at understanding his own limits. The Devil, knowing this, usually coaxed him into drinking some water and having a meal during their drinking sessions. The Devil had no need for food to sustain him, but it seemed to make Dice more comfortable eating in his presence, so they ate together. Dice liked pastries and ice cream and chocolate, and it was all the same to the Devil. Around this time, the Devil’s Casino’s standing order to the von Bon Bon Bakery on Isle Two increased substantially._

_“‘M I gonna see him again?” Dice asked suddenly._

_The Devil frowned. “Say what?”_

_“ Jonah_. _Are we gonna spend all eternity together?”_

_Right_. _Dice was always trying to pry at the Devil about what, exactly, happened after death. The Devil enjoyed the fear that the topic inspired in Dice, and thus had remained obstinately tight-lipped on the subject._

_“Boss--if I’m goin’ to Hell, are you gonna take care of me? Or am I just gonna like…” Dice trailed off, and the Devil flicked his tail against Dice’s glass again, prompting him to take another drink of water. “... burn in a pit_ , _or somethin’? I_ didn’t _mean_ to be _evil_ , _or nothin’, ya know? I just…”_

_Dice’s head slumped against the table, and his eyes closed. The Devil frowned, examining his young manager for signs of life; to his relief, Dice’s breathing was still there, soft and shallow._

_Maybe he had let the boy go too far this time. He scanned the lounge for someone to fetch him a cookie, or something else to give Dice some energy so the Devil could wake him and bring him up to his room._

Nothing terrified most young humans more than death, and Dice was no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We haven't seen much from the Devil's perspective yet, or much Dice/Devil interaction, so I hope this delivers :) Plus there's a whole lot of history to fill in for this AU's version of King Dice!
> 
> This was originally one chapter that I split into two in an attempt to keep the scenes in a single chapter kind of emotionally and thematically tied together. That next chapter will be out soon as well ^^
> 
> ALSO, THANK YOU for reading!!! I cannot believe how many people have at least clicked on this title, I hope you guys are having fun :) 
> 
> cinnamon-pigeon.tumblr.com and grapefruitshark#7515 (I basically always have Discord open) guys! If you ever want to talk :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've fallen into the pit of writing Snake Eyes flashback fluff and I can't get up
> 
> Also Pirouletta is the best friend

For someone who he called a ‘good-for-nothing lackey’, the Devil had taken good care of his King. 

 

Dice was prone to overindulging sometimes, and he wasn't always good at knowing his limits; on more than one occasion Dice had woken up the morning after a night of drinking with the Devil and found himself sick to his stomach. The Devil, amused at Dice’s antics, would always be at his side to help him recover: 

☙

_ “There, there.” Dice was twenty-six and curled up on the bathroom floor after trying and failing to hold down some tea and toast. The Devil set a glass of seltzer on the ledge of the bathtub before assuming a small cat-like form and nestling himself against Dice’s belly.  _

_“Aren't you _ magic _?” Dice groaned, stroking his hands through the Devil’s shaggy black fur._

_ “What of it?” _

_“Can't you _ help _me?” Dice said haplessly, burying his face in the Devil’s coat._

_ “Bubbles help with an upset stomach, I've been told,” the Devil offered. He resumed his regular form and wrapped his arms around Dice, dragging him into a sitting position. “That's what yer buddy Mango says, anyways, and he's got the weakest stomach I’ve ever seen.” The Devil pressed the glass of seltzer into Dice’s palm.  _

_“Couldn’ you just_ end  _this? _ Whoosh _.” Dice’s shoulders heaved. The Devil stroked Dice’s head gently, and Dice took a few deep breaths to steady himself._

_ “That'd be a waste. The answer’s simple, after all.” The Devil smiled. “Don't drink so much, ya fool.” _

_“ _ Ughhhhh _,” Dice groaned. “Why do you even _ come  _here, anyway?”_

_ “Don't be so prickly, Dicey,” the Devil said as he rubbed his cheek against Dice’s. His voice was a soft, silky purr. “It's ‘cause I care about you.” _

 

☙

 

Other occasions that the Devil took care of Dice were less of Dice’s own fault. He was a human, after all, and vulnerable to the same illnesses as the rest of them. He was thirty-one and stricken with a fever that took him off the casino floor for a week, which was unheard of for Dice. 

 

The staff of the casino, who usually gave Dice a great deal of privacy, had started bringing soup and soda to his room twice a day. The Devil relished the looks of shock and fear on their faces when he would answer his lackey’s door to take his meal inside:

 

☙

 

_ “What's it like to get a fever?” the Devil asked. He was lying in Dice’s bed next to him, and the tip of his tail was twitching back and forth with boredom.  _

_Dice grumbled softly into his pillow for a moment. “Hot dawg, it's just_ aces _, boss,” he responded bitingly. “The_  bee’s knees _. If I could do it over again, I’d ask ya to give me the damn flu all the _ time _, so I could live my whole life with a one-oh-four”--_

_ “Okay, you made your point,” the Devil snapped.  _

_ Dice whimpered and pulled the covers tightly around himself. “I'm cold,” he murmured.  _

_ The Devil’s form changed subtly; he grew another three pairs of arms along his slightly lengthened torso. Eight warm arms wrapped tightly around Dice, who sighed contentedly at the warm embrace.  _

_ “That better?” The Devil asked.  _

_“ _ Mmmhm _. Tha’s nice.”_

 

♚♥♚

 

What would eternity next to the Devil look like? Dice had no answers, and he knew that the Devil didn't either. The Devil had been, on the whole, pretty good to him. They were unprofessionally  close, perfectly fine with cozying up to each other like an old couple. Dice had long known that the Devil wanted even more from him, but Dice had always been a little vague and distant about his feelings in that regard. He knew it was probably dangerous to catch feelings for the Devil. There were limits on Dice’s power, but Dice didn't know the limits of the Devil. 

 

Would that change if he accepted the Devil’s offer? Would that make him some kind of a lesser god?

 

It would mean watching everyone he knew die, eventually. Not just the kind and generous Elder Kettle, and Mr. Wheezy, whom he regarded a bit like a favorite uncle. It would also mean watching the high-spirited Chips, the dependable Pirouletta, the spunky Mr. Chimes meet their ends. He would even outlive little Cuphead and Mugman--

 

To accept the Devil’s offer, he would have to totally change the way he regarded himself and others. Like it or not, he had strong attachments to people in his life. It might be too painful to keep forming such attachments, knowing that they would move on long before he would. 

 

He could picture Cuphead’s face, if word got back to the kid that he'd started collecting souls again. He tried not to think too much about the boy, because he knew it was for Cuphead’s own good that he was out of his life, but he still missed the little pipsqueak. 

 

By the time he left, he knew that Cuphead was starting to look up to him, which was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. The boy’s eager spirit and penchant for excitement reminded him strongly of himself at that age. Little thirteen-year-old Caleb Dice had, by then, accumulated a pack of schoolkids that would hang out at his family’s shop after school to drink sodas and play games of craps or poker. Caleb’s father didn't condone the kids gambling in his shop, but he was getting old and dealing with the gambling addiction of his oldest son took much of his time and energy. Caleb was reliable, so he was often left to his own devices in the store. 

 

What would that little boy say about the position that Dice found himself in? Would he be able to understand it? Would he trade his friends for powers from beyond the mortal realm?

 

Hell, did he even understand it now…?

 

♚♥♚

 

Dice didn’t remember how he managed to weasel his way out of the Devil’s office without making a decision. 

 

The next thing he knew, someone nudged him in the ribs, and he was back on the casino floor, leaned against a poker table.

 

“Lookin’ kinda peaked, boss,” Chips remarked. The man was carrying a coffee mug with the Devil’s Casino insignia painted onto the ceramic. “There’s fresh coffee in the break room.”

 

“...Right,” Dice responded hazily. 

 

Pirouletta, who was following Chips while carefully balancing her own cup of coffee, paused and looked up and down at Dice. Were it any other employee than the quiet and composed Pirouletta, Dice might have given her an earful for staring.

 

“Need somethin’?” he asked her.

 

“Well, there are some invoices that need your attention later. I left them in your office this afternoon, I was having trouble finding you.” 

 

Dice couldn’t remember when he returned from the Devil’s office, but he had apparently missed Pirouleta. “Ah. I can”--he began, shaking his head abruptly as if to manually clear his thoughts.

 

“It can wait, of course, Mr. Dice. You know…” Pirouletta sighed. “I live not so far from here, by the pier. We have been working since nighttime, maybe we can retire for now, what do you say?” She took a long sip of her coffee, swirling the remaining contents of the cup with a graceful flick of her wrist. She was a polished professional to the last, but Dice had known her for long enough to know how tired she was.

 

 _We’ve been working all night?_   There were no windows visible from the casino floor, so Dice had no idea of what time it was. He had been so lost in his own head, trapped in a fog, that he had almost forgotten about the world outside of the Devil’s Casino. 

 

“Lemme just--” Dice’s head rotated around his shoulders as he scanned the casino for Mr. Wheezy, whom he usually left in charge while he as gone. 

 

“Wheezy? Please, he's been working here since you were a boy. The casino will be fine,  he’ll know what to do for a few hours,  let's go.” Pirouletta twirled an airy circle around Dice and tugged gently on the sleeve of his suit jacket. 

 

⚄ ⚄ ⚄

 

Golden-honey rays of mid-afternoon sunlight kissed Dice and Pirouletta as they exited the shadowy entrance of the Devil’s Casino and made their way across the tracks to the downtown area of Isle Three. Dice, who had forgotten that Autumn was quickly approaching, hadn’t remembered to bring a jacket, and was secretly grateful for the warm and sleepy weather. A dense blanket of fog was beginning to creep in from the coast, but the air outside was still pleasant, if not a little chilly.

 

He had to walk quickly in order to keep up with Pirouletta, who seemed to move effortlessly at a very brisk pace. Hurrying after her as they navigated the back-alleys of Inkwell Three helped keep Dice’s mind off of the Devil, and his eyes away from the scrutinizing glares he caught as they made their way through the crowds.

 

They reached the quieter stretch of homes by the ocean just as the horizon began to glow with a faint tint of strawberry-pink. Dice had never been to Pirouletta’s home, which was a small townhouse with a view of the pier. Pirouletta offered Dice a seat at the kitchen table and set off to cook something in the kitchen.

 

“You seem distracted lately,” she said, calmly mincing an onion.

 

Dice was stricken by Pirouletta’s straightforwardness. It was a bit unnerving to have someone speak to him so directly, but after going in circles over the Devil’s words, it was nice to have such a direct conversation.

 

“Been hard gettin’ back into the groove,” Dice responded vaguely. A part of him wanted to tell Pirouletta about the ultimatum that the Devil had given him, but he also didn’t want to drag her into it, and the thought of explaining his past with the Devil seemed untouchably exhausting.

 

“You surely haven’t been,” Pirouletta noted. “I have noticed...you have not so many meetings with patrons anymore, do you? You are not doing your...business with the souls.”

 

“So y’all noticed,” Dice said flatly. He had managed to convince himself that he was the only one who had been affected by the soul contracts. 

 

“It was part of your job, I thought,” Pirouletta said. There was no hint of accusation in her voice, just genuine sincerity.

 

"Hah...it's...how do I put this gently, eh? My job’s kinda up for re-negotiation with the big man.”

 

“Well, what do you think, Mr. Dice?”

 

“Dunno.” Dice’s eyebrows furrowed, and he rested his head in his palm. “It’s tough work, y’know? They're happy out there, free of the Devil. I wasn't really thinkin’ about how many lives I ruined. Dunno if I have it in me to get at it again.” He grimaced. “What else is there out there for me, after all these years? Makes ya wonder how much you're really good for. At least I was good at this job, ya know? Could keep the damn Devil in line and everyone could buy their bread.”

 

“We do not need a...how do you say? A martyr,” Pirouletta told him. “It is your soul, and your life, yes? And for us, the same. Nobody wishes for you to sacrifice  yourself for the good of the casino.” 

 

“Try tellin’ that to Ol’ Scratch,” Dice said scathingly. 

 

“Oh, come now. Everyone knows it is you with the Devil wrapped around your finger, and not the other way around. If you try to leave, he will not stop you. We will miss you, yes, but that should not be enough to keep you here.” 

 

Dice stared at her for a long time, unable to find the right words. The tea in his mug was growing cold, but he felt oddly frozen in place and incapable of moving to drink it. 

 

“You want my opinion, Mr. Dice?” Pirouletta asked, standing up and waltzing to her stove. 

 

“Shoot,” Dice said. He wasn't sure if he trusted Pirouletta’s judgment, but he didn't know who else he could turn to. 

 

“I have worked for the Devil now, how many years? I no longer believe in Heaven and Hell, not the way I was told when I was a girl. I do not think we are _goin_ _g_ anywhere after this.” 

 

Dice had more or less reached the same conclusion during his tenure at the casino--he had been to the underworld a fair amount, and it was mostly barren. Of course he had never been bold enough to ask the Devil outright, but he had slowly come to an understanding that he would not, at the very least, spend all of eternity burning in a sulphuric pit. 

 

And now, the Devil had more or less confirmed to him that he was not truly the untouchable ruler of Hell that he styled himself to be: his life could run out as well. 

 

“It is a bit of a relief, no? That you will answer, at the end, to yourself?” Pirouletta was stirring something in a pot on the stove and lifted the wooden spoon to her mouth for a taste. 

 

Her lips pursed, and then she continued, “I have not been here as many years as you, but I heard many  stories.” She smiled emphatically and twirled the spoon in her hand around her wrist. “ Mister  King Dice, so proud  and ambitious.  You seem so tired lately. If this is not what you wanted for yourself, you will find your way, I am sure of it.”

 

Dice heaved a heavy sigh. “Thanks,” he said stiffly. With a glance at the thickening fog outside, he added, “I shouldn’t keep ya.”

 

“You can stay, if you need,” Pirouletta said offhandedly. “A little company can be nice, no? I have some extra blankets for the couch. It would be nicer than walking back to the casino in this weather, I think.”

 

Pirouletta’s generosity caught Dice off guard. “Thanks,” he said. “If it's not too much trouble.”

 

Pirouletta nodded. “I am making some soup for dinner, but if it will be for two of us, perhaps we need something more.” She nodded to a pantry door just outside the kitchen. “I have eaten your cooking before, it's quite good. You can make mashed potatoes, that would be helpful.”

 

“You betcha.” Taking Pirouletta’s cue, Dice headed to the pantry and carried a burlap sack of potatoes to the counter. The repetitive work of peeling and chopping potatoes was comforting, and Pirouletta’s soup smelled strongly of leeks in a way that reminded him of home. 

 

“Gotta be some butter in this place, right?”

 

“Yes, I have it here.” Pirouletta handed Dice the butter dish and twirled back towards the stove. “And I will get you the pot.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how far we've come in a little over a month :-O 
> 
> Side note, as much as I love the aesthetic of Snake Eyes it's always been hard for me to really envision how they interact together. I feel like I finally worked it out over the course of the flashbacks in this chapter. I'm sorry that I don't know how to write 'unabashedly sleazy' as much as 'arrogant and kind of a jerk', I am Lawful Good as heck and the struggle is REAL sometimes -.-
> 
> I really love reading comments (I know everyone does, but it's really the highlight of my day!) and all of that jazz--predictions? Suggestions? I'm open to writing more of what you guys are interested in reading ^^
> 
> Peace! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get themselves in a little too deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a sideblog for cuphead-y stuff! Come talk to me about this fic or just about Cuphead stuff in general! Also watch me attempt to learn how to draw xD 
> 
>  
> 
> <https://cinnamon-pigeon.tumblr.com/>

He’s back in the casino like nothing ever happened. His mind is empty and peaceful in a way that it hasn't been since his fight with Cuphead and Mugman. The lights are dim, the room crowded and smoky. Faceless patrons drift about like specks of dust on the surface of a pond, filling the air with an indistinct chatter.

There must be work to do, of course. Without thinking, he starts to walk, wandering his way back towards the kitchen. He likes to check in on the kitchen every once in awhile, to make sure the food is up to standard and sometimes to grab a bite, but today it’s just force of habit that pulls him there. He feels almost like a ghost--light and invisible. The crowd parts seamlessly, or maybe he drifts through them like a fish through water. The air is swirling with smoke, but he can’t smell the tobacco, only a faint and comforting scent--cotton, maybe, or linen. It reminds him of his childhood.

" _Kiiiing! Ova’ here!"_ The warm, familiar drawl of Chips Bettigan sounds from somewhere that Dice can’t pin down. He spins about, trying to locate Chips. The little hotshot dealer rarely calls for help, preferring to solve his problems in his own  _unique_ way. The note of urgency in his call makes Dice’s pulse quicken.

" _King."_ Chips stands in front of him, with Cuphead and Mugman at his sides. The boys’ eyes burn with anger.

" _Mister King Dice! Why?"_ Mugman whines. His lower lip crumples as he bursts into tears.

Everything is happening so quickly that Dice can’t process the absurdity of the situation. Cuphead is seethingly angry, practically burning with rage. He points to something behind Dice.

" _Now look what you’ve done!”_

Dice turns to look behind him. Searing blue flames engulf the back of the casino, lapping hungrily into the sky and sending up clouds of billowing black smoke.

Something is wrong. The crowd isn’t moving. Through the crowd, he can see the shining gold of Pirouletta’s topknot...the distinctive sheen of Mangosteen’s smooth black head...they’re oddly fixed in place, blissfully unaware of the roaring flames that will soon consume them.

He turns back to Chips and Cuphead and Mugman. Mugman is crumpled on the ground with his shoulders heaving. Cuphead and Chips are staring at him with expressions of seething, otherworldly anger. Reflections of the blue flames dance on the porcelain surface of Cuphead’s skin, rapidly growing brighter and more dramatic. Dice doesn’t dare look back; the flames must be nearly upon them now. Everything is eerily silent--no screams, no panicked yells, no cries for help. The blood in Dice’s veins must be frozen. Even he can’t feel the heat.

" _Everyone!"_ Dice shouts desperately. " _We gotta evacuate! Towards the exits, now...everyone...everyone…”_

Nobody is listening. A drop of sweat rolls down Dice’s cheek as he turns to face the flames. It’s a full-blown blaze now that consumes the entire casino. He can’t see his friends, or the patrons, or even make out the card tables anymore.

He tries to run, but he’s stuck in place. Panicking, he struggles against himself, but he feels like he’s being rooted to the ground.

_Ha...ha…_

A deep, terrifying, unhinged laughter rings out through the casino. Above the flames…

..it’s him. It’s his head. A giant version of his own head with purple pips in a gleaming white resin, staring cruelly down at the casino as the people inside burn. Enormous green eyes, unnaturally bright and crackling with energy, sear holes into his soul. The flames have now engulfed him, too--it's just him and himself in a pit of blue flames that must now contain the ashes of his second family, and the little cup boys, and the bodies of Inkwell’s degenerate gamblers.

 _Ha...ha..._ his face, blown up to a size even larger than his regular body, is both stunningly beautiful and strikingly cruel. There’s something less than human reflected in those eyes...he always thought his eyes were a bit darker, more like the forest floor than lights on a neon sign. The laugh, that evil and terrible laugh, surrounds him.

_Ha...ha…_

He can’t feel himself burning. Can’t smell the smoke. He looks down to see if his clothes are burning, but everything is engulfed in the flames.

_Ha...ha…_

He drops to his knees and lets loose a terrified scream.

♡♛

" _Dice!_ Oh, my goodness!" A voice, soft but authoritative, sounds from somewhere in the dark.

Dice shuddered as the blue flames disappeared into a black and empty darkness. He was still struggling to comprehend what was happening. _Gotta run, gotta get out_ , he thought to himself, finding it oddly difficult to recall what was happening. Another scream escaped his throat, sending vibrations through his chest and throat. It was oddly comforting, a simple sensation that reminded him that his body was still there.

" _Wake up!_ You must!" Something grips onto his shoulder and shakes him rapidly back and forth.

He realized he was dreaming a moment before his eyes flew open. Pirouletta was sitting next to him, clutching his forearm in her hand. The wooly pink afghan of hers that he had been using as a pillow was soaked in his sweat and drool.

“Ugh…" Dice groaned. His heart was still pounding from the dream, but as he was becoming cognizant of the waking world once again, he was realizing that he had created quite a scene.

“Shh. Wherever you were, you are here now," Pirouletta said, giving his shoulder a squeeze and helping him into a sitting position. “It will be alright.”

The air felt thinner somehow; he found himself struggling to catch his breath. Pirouletta draped a linen sheet around his shoulders, and he pressed it tighter around himself, breaths still coming out in ragged gasps.

“I...I can’t," he whimpered. His stomach lurched as if he was riding the first big drop of a roller coaster.

Pirouletta said nothing, but nodded slightly in affirmation. The window gave Dice a view of thick coastal fog and a beam of yellow streetlight, and he realized that he must have woken Pirouletta.

“Sorry to wake ya," he muttered, letting his gaze drop to his knees.

“Mmm," Pirouletta replied, reaching for the afghan and draping it over the sofa's armrest. “It is alright.”

Dice’s teeth gritted. Pirouletta had been more than kind to him, and he hated how indebted and vulnerable he was beginning to seem to her. What could he do, though? He let his head fall back and rest against the sofa.

“I can’t take the deal," he declared to no one in particular. It was a declaration of his resolve, forged in the flames of his dream. He belonged with the others, not as some kind of god halfway between Earth and Hell. Perhaps it would have been different if he, like the Devil, had been born as such, but it was something he couldn’t accept.

“I do not need to know what you are speaking of," Pirouletta responded. “But if it eases your mind, then I am glad.”

Decisiveness gave him a sudden burst of energy. He was on his feet before he knew what was happening, and he felt a tingling in his joints that urged him to move. “I gotta go home, Piro," he said. “Thanks fer everythin’.”

Pirouletta’s expression was not surprised. “Do not do something foolish," she advised. “I think I may have a large coat for you. It is cold outside." She disappeared into her room for a moment and reappeared with a large black coat. It looked like a high-end men’s coat, slightly too wide and short in the arms for Dice, but suitable enough. Dice vaguely wondered why she had such a thing on hand. It still smelled like cigars.

“Yer a good friend,"Dice told Pirouletta. His voice broke a little at the last word; it was exactly these sorts of connections that he couldn’t give up, even for immortality.

Pirouletta chuckled. “Yes," she said smugly, smiling to herself. “Do not do something foolish, now. I do not want to come to work to find the casino in ruins again.”

“Can’t make promises. But it couldn't hurt to try.”

☙ ☙ ☙

The Devil sat alone in his office, staring off into space.

Dice had left him. He was a _devil_ , with the power of all Hell at his disposal, and he had _permitted_ Dice to leave him. Slick, smarmy Dice had slipped between his fingers as if the Devil was just another a low-level chump, same as all the others that Dice abandoned in his wake.

He should never have let him go.

He hadn’t checked on the casino, or done much of anything, since Dice had left their meeting--had it been hours before, or  _days_ , at this point? He didn’t want to know whether Dice was still there--so long as he didn’t know that Dice had abandoned them, then he  _could_ still be there. There was something to hold on to.

Besides, Even if Dice was gone, he knew that the casino staff was relatively competent and self-sufficient. The place could run practically run itself for a spell--

\--forever? Without Dice, what was the point?

“Fool."A low, guttural voice startled the Devil out of his catatonic state. He looked up in time to see a red ring of glowing light spreading on the floor, with a thin steam beginning to rise from it.

Another devil, then, summoned from the depths of Hell. _This_ couldn’t be good.

The devil that appeared was dark red in color, with curled horns like a ram’s, and hooves like polished obsidian. He quickly strode towards the Inkwell Devil’s throne, knocking the smaller black-furred devil aside with a butt of his horns. The heavy golden throne landed on the tile floor with a deafening _t_ _hud_.

The Inkwell Devil’s eyes fluttered open, and he got a glimpse of the angry, ram-formed Devil towering over him, snorting clouds of smoke in it’s rage. Confused, he opened his mouth to defend himself--

 _Wham!_ The ram-devil’s horns collided with the Inkwell Devil’s body, lifting him up and sending him flying into a wall. A shard of the Inkwell Devil’s horn skittered across the floor, and the Inkwell Devil pawed clumsily at the cracked appendage, wincing in pain.

“Promising life to a mortal--have you lost your  _mind_? Maybe this’ll help you find it."The Inkwell Devil felt the horns pierce the fur that protected his ribs, and shuddered in pain as the ram-devil speared him, again and again.

He was in pain and rapidly approaching losing his consciousness. Sitting in one position for so long had made his joints stiff--perhaps he wasn’t  _quite_ as young as he used to be. The Inkwell Devil snarled and bared his teeth, using his rapidly draining energy to summon a glowing blue ball of flame that he sent flying towards the ram-devil.

The ram-devil snorted and easily dodged the Inkwell Devil’s wayward projectile. “God damned _fool_ ," he roared, rampaging through a flurry of tiny blue flames that the Inkwell Devil shot towards him in order to gore the Inkwell Devil once again. “All of _hell_ is talking about what you’ve done--promising your powers to a _mortal_ \--you know that’s a line that can’t be crossed!”

The ram-devil’s rage was nearly out of control--the Inkwell Devil didn’t  _t_ _hink_ that his opponent’s intention was to kill him, but he was fairly small and weak as far as devils went, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to cross that line by accident. The Inkwell Devil’s pink-red tears spilled onto the checkered floor, spilling elegantly across the mirror-smooth surface.

He tried to summon some kind of remorse, but in his dazed state, all that came to mind was King Dice. He was a sleazeball and a good showman, but when he was truly and sincerely happy, the man had a magnetism to him, a charisma that could light up a room in shades of lilac and indigo. For years now, the Inkwell Devil had known in some way that it would come to this. Dice was a mortal, and human lives were short, yet he couldn’t imagine going on without him. Claiming Dice by force had never been an option--he wanted King Dice, the cocky Caleb Dice, not as a prop but as a living and breathing being.

It was always going to come to this. He just wished that Dice had reciprocated those feelings. It was something of a solace, then, the stabbing pain of the ram-devil’s horns against his side--this would be it, then, and Dice never would never have the chance to leave him--

“Well, well. Look who it is." Genuine surprise tinged the ram-devil’s gravelly voice. With his remaining strength, the Inkwell Devil cracked open one eye, struggling to bring the world into focus.

A pair of purple wingtip shoes swam slowly into the Devil’s sight, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of dread. _He’s here…_ he thought, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the floor. He was beginning to accept his own demise at the hands of this ram-devil, but the thought of Dice gored on those giant horns, begging for mercy as his suit was ripped to shreds, filled him with enough rage for the Inkwell Devil to push himself to his feet.

“Get...out…" the Inkwell Devil sputtered at Dice.

The other devil laughed. “Oh, it’s too late for that, you little wimp. All the exits are sealed." The red-furred head turned back to Dice, and the guttural voice boomed out, “see what the power of a _real_ devil looks like now, kid?”

The Inkwell Devil’s eyes closed again, but he could hear the click of Dice’s heels on the ground. From the sound of it, he was approaching the ram-devil, not attempting to flee. _Run_ , the Inkwell Devil begged silently, pressing his head into the cold tiles. He couldn’t bear to hear Dice’s agony if the ram-devil chose to bleed him dry as well.

“You’re that _Dice_ boy," the ram-devil hissed. " _Caleb_ , innit? Humans come up with stupider names every year, I swear.”

Despite the circumstances, the thought of Dice’s insulted, infuriated face made the Inkwell Devil smile. Recent events had pushed his understanding of the man to its very limits, but he knew the exact look that would be on Dice’s face.

“I’m”--Dice’s voice had the slightest hint of a waver to it.

“Oh, no! I don’t care why you came back. You’re _mine_ now, you little punk.”

A strange sensation enveloped the Inkwell Devil; he felt as if he were being encased in gel. A lurching sensation in the pit of his stomach indicated to him that he was being lifted. As his eyes were opened by an external force, he realized that he was encased in a suspended magical orb of swirling, bright silver plasma, forced to watch something unfold in the room below.

Dice was standing a body’s width away from the ram-devil, with his hands raised as if he were prepared to take him on with his fists. Dice’s gaze was intensely fixed upon his opponent. The ram-devil, on the other hand, turned his attention towards the Inkwell Devil.

“I’m gonna want you to see this, bud," the ram-devil called out to the Inkwell Devil. “You and your little pal, actin’ like you’ve got all the power in the world...I’ll give you both a taste of what Hell’s _really_ like."He let out an unworldly laugh. “You’re not off the hook up there yet. You’ve got a front row seat for this”--the ram-devil gestured with a flick of his crimson tail towards Dice--”Before you meet your end, he and I, we’re gonna play a little game first.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cue 2nd Sucks in the background*
> 
> *Mortal Kombat voice* FIGHTTTTT


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a fight if there isn't a preamble before the fight
> 
> I mean nevermind it's still a fight but it wouldn't be very MeTM of me to write it like that

The glowing orb that encased the Inkwell Devil cast long blue shadows across the floor. King Dice looked tiny, swallowed up by the shadow of an enormous marble column as he stared into the eyes of a devil three times the size of any that Dice had ever seen.

The Devil had known Dice for years, and knew that he was a coward at heart. Dice’s strength lay more in his wits and charisma than in brute force. He couldn’t take a punch too well, but _damn_ if he couldn’t charm someone into taking it for him; he’d brought the whole _casino_ down swinging with him before he’d deigned to fight those little cups with his own two hands. This time, though, he didn’t have his loyal staff to buffer the fight for him, nor did he have the upper hand.

Clearly, Dice hadn’t walked into the office with the expectation of fighting a fiend with powers beyond anything he’d witnessed. The sleazy, arrogant smirk that Dice usually wore before a fight was the grin of a man who was adept at reading his opponent, and understanding them more quickly than they understood themselves. Now, Dice found himself staring into cruel and inhuman eyes, a smoky shade of yellow with jet-black slits for pupils.

If Dice was bluffing, this was a _hell_ of a bad time to bluff. The Devil could only watch, transfixed with horror, as the tiny shape on the floor shifted in position and began to speak.

“I don’t know whatcha want from me--what kinda goddamn _game_ ya think I’ll be dragged into--but lemme tell ya, I”--

" _SI_ _LENCE!”_ Came the thunderous reply. The ram-devil stomped its hoof against the floor, shattering the ground beneath it. “You fools think you can play with magic like a game--now, let’s play a game of mine.”

A luminous hourglass appeared in midair, floating at Dice’s eye level. The Devil could see that the glowing pink sand was gathered at the top, frozen in the upper glass. Dice’s face, illuminated by the hourglass, was full of confusion. The Devil found himself staring at the flickering shadows on Dice’s face. He was pretty, even now. All of this mess for that face down below.

The Inkwell Devil still couldn’t summon any remorse.

“This”--the ram-devil flicked it’s tail towards the hourglass--”is the life of your little  _friend_ up there. Once the sand hits the bottom”-- the ram-devil snorted a puff of inky black smoke.

“Yeah, yeah.” The Devil knew each one of Dice’s expressions by heart: right now, Dice was intrigued but not yet buying into the magnitude of what the ram-devil was telling him.

“Once the sand starts falling, Fluffy up there’s got one hour to live--that’s how you are keeping track of time here now, yes?”

Dice’s expression was unreadably blank. His eyes were fixed no longer on the hourglass, but on the ram-devil’s eyes. The Devil wondered whether Dice understood that he couldn’t stare down this enemy.

“This ain't a goddamn _game_ if I don't get a hand to play,” Dice growled. His lips split into the slightest sneer as he added, “‘Least, that’s how we do it _these_ days--”

The ram-devil snorted and stomped at the ground. Lines of flame erupted from where its hoof struck the floor and spread rapidly out towards Dice. With a startled yelp, Dice staggered to one side. The flames gently kissed the hem of his pants before dissipating into puffs of smoke. When the air cleared, the arrogant look on Dice’s face had been wiped clean away.

“Walk away, and let your Devil die. Stay and fight me, and if you defeat me, you can have what’s left of him. If you don’t--don’t expect me to play nice with you, boy.” The ram-devil raised its head, and a ring of tiny flames circled around Dice, lighting up his pale face in shades of crimson and gold. The circle of flames tightened around him, singing his shoulders before being snuffed out of existence with a shake of the ram-devil’s head. 

“Fight--for him?” Dice’s gaze flicked to the hourglass--he was biding his time.

_Nobody’s going to save you_ , the Devil thought as he watched the familiar dark green eyes study the sand in the top of the glass. _Oh, Dice…_

“Of course he won't.” the ram-devil mocked. It’s head turned to face the Inkwell Devil, regarding him with a burning stare. “ _This_ is the kind of _idiot_ you were going to entrust Hell’s most powerful magic to,” he called to the Inkwell Devil in a booming voice.

The Inkwell Devil felt his heart sink in his chest. To be killed by the other devil would be a painful and bloody way to go, to be certain, but it would surely be worse to watch the one that he loved walk away, abandoning him to watch his life slip away, painlessly, grain by agonizing grain.

Especially in terms of his betting habits, the Devil knew everything there was to know about Dice. Dice was a cocky cheater, but he wasn’t stupid. His ability to fold when the stakes rose too high was one of the things that separated him from the degenerates who came through the casino day after day, betting away their lives and souls for another useless roll of the dice.

This was the end, then. The Devil doubted that death in this way would be physically _painful_ when compared to, say, being gored on the horns of a rampaging hellspawn. But it would _hurt_ , would it ever, to watch Dice walk away. It would be the right call, he knew. Even by the standards of mankind, Dice wasn’t physically strong or skilled in this kind of combat. There was a reason that Dice always hid behind the likes of Mangosteen and Mr. Wheezy.

_What would happen_ ? Dice had a reputation as a swindler, but he _had_ grown up on the Inkwell Isles, and he was sharp. It wouldn't be impossible for him to rebuild his life, especially if he set his mind to it. Would he go start the _family_ he’d spoken of? Would the Devil’s Casino carry on without--well, the Devil?

_The King’s Court_. The name drifted across the Devil’s consciousness, making him smile. It had been Dice’s place all along, hadn’t it? He imagined _THE KING’S COURT_ in bright lights across the entrance to the casino, casting a brilliant glare on the red dice that lined the walkway.

“This was over-- _me_.” Dice’s voice, tense and wavering, broke the silence at last. His voice was strained in a way that the Devil had never heard before.

“Over an _imbecile_ appropriating the powers of _Hell_ ”--

“...ah, dammit. I call.” Dice’s teeth gritted, and the Devil watched in shock as his right-hand man lowered his shoulders and glared into the ram-devil’s eyes.

The ram-devil snorted with pure shock. “For-- _him_?” he asked, swishing his tail towards the Inkwell Devil.

“He ain’t dyin’ for me.” Dice adjusted his gloves and curled his hand into a fist, leaving his index finger extended. At the tip of his finger a shining pink light, identical in hue to the sand in the hourglass, began to glow. “I’ve caused enough trouble for one lifetime...I owe ‘im that much.”

The Devil wanted desperately for Dice to look in his direction, for them to share even a half of a moment between them, but Dice was focused solely on the ram-devil in front of him.

“...Very well.” The ram-devil snorted, and its eyes began to glow an eerie shade of red.

The magic hourglass drifted upwards until it was suspended next to the Devil. The Devil glanced at it for a split second before returning his focus to the brawl that was brewing on the ground beneath him.

The pink sand in the hourglass began to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAA I'M SORRY IT'S A SHORT CHAPTER. I wanted to write the final arc and post it all at once, but it's coming together in funny bits and pieces and I just want to get the ball rolling ^^;
> 
> Spoiler alert that isn't really a spoiler: I'm sure everyone knows I love Dice too much to let him die. I have plans for these characters both in a sequel and in an rp blog because I'm getting back into RP and I love them dearly, so I'll let you know more about that as it comes!!
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading!! <3 <3


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